


Frozen

by SilverWield



Series: Frozen [1]
Category: Eldarya (Video Game), Final Fantasy, Origin Story - Fandom, Original Work, Shiva - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Drama, Magic-Users, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-10-29 21:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 59,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10862910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWield/pseuds/SilverWield
Summary: A story about how Shiva came to be who she is.The world of Nova Crystallis is cursed; one side burning desert, the other side icy tundra. The people are cursed as well. Those of the desert lands, the Ifrit, will never know a woman's comfort. Driven mad by their lust they travel to the icy lands and kidnap the women, using their bodies until there is nothing left of them.Shiva is born to one of the tribes in the frozen lands. Her people are brave and innovative; they want to ease the hardships of everyone, but the Fayth - religious leaders who have the ear of the four Goddesses - prefer the people the way they are.Conflict arises and Shiva must choose to follow the ways of her people, or find a new way.This story contains themes of rape and sexual abuse, but they will not be shown graphically, sorry not sorry. The game world of Eldarya will feature towards the end of the story. You can also find this story on the US version of Eldarya under my username: DiamondDust ^=^





	1. Chapter 1

Nova Crystalis, a world out of balance. One half is burning sands and arid deserts. The other, frigid tundras and icy vistas. It wasn't always so.  
Once, the four Goddesses: Eos, Macalania, Shiva and Etro kept the world in harmony. Nova Crystalis was a world of green landscapes and cities made of stone. People farmed the land and hunted in the forests. There was law and order and life.  
Eos brought the dawn, and with it the hope and promise that hardships would pass and things would begin again. Macalania gave the blessing of procreation to the people, the certainty that life would continue. Shiva gave the people strength and the will to surpass any trial, no matter how difficult, and Etro gave them the peace of eternal slumber when their time was at an end.  
The people knew their Goddesses, for they walked among them, each woman reflected what she had given the people, from the golden skinned Eos to the midnight toned Etro.  
For one man, it wasn't enough to simply linger at the edges of a Goddess's existence. This man became obsessed with the sweetest of the Goddesses: the pale-green skinned, Macalania. The Goddess of love and procreation, music and celebration, she was full of life and laughter, with a temptress smile freely given to everyone.  
Macalania had no idea the man wanted her so; she was a deity and beloved by all her people. She was no fighter, had no reason to be, and could not prevent the man from taking what he desired; destroying the Goddess's spirit with his foul touch. She ran as soon as she was able. Ran as fast as she could, through crowds of people, who gasped in shock at the ragged Goddess.  
Only safe with her sisters did she cry and vent her horror at what had been done to her. That one of their people, their creations, could do this to her. It was beyond anything any of them could understand.  
Etro's solution was to end them all, start afresh. Eos argued that not all were to blame. Macalania wanted justice and Shiva was set in the centre as the deciding voice.  
“I agree,” the blue-skinned Goddess said, silencing the arguing that had gone on for a night and a day. “The people are spoiled by the gifts we have given them. The believe themselves our equals. It is not so! But,” she added in a more kindly tone, “death is too extreme. There are those who are innocent, as Eos says.”  
“They would not remain innocent for long,” Macalania replied bitterly. “Those men would learn from the other one, they would become corrupt and evil.”  
“Then we should arrange things to best prevent it,” Etro concluded, in a voice lacking any feeling. “This is our world, and we can order it how we see fit.”  
“You would steal hope from them as well, I suppose,” Eos said, her voice a sad whisper. She loved her siblings, but she loved the people as well. “We must give them the chance to earn redemption. It is not all of their fault.” She looked to Shiva, her most likely ally. “Please?”  
“If some have to suffer so that others may flourish, then so be it,” Shiva said. When she saw Eos's shoulders slump in defeat she added, “Some of the most beautiful flowers grow in the harshest climates. The hope you give them will ensure they find their way.”  
Eos hummed in agreement, knowing this to be the most compromise she would get, and set her mind to how she could help the people restore balance to the world.

 

The Fracture came without warning. The world suddenly split as the four Goddesses reordered the landscape.  
Any fully grown male was gathered up and dumped in the now burning, hot lands to the south. Macalania stood before them, her face twisted with rage, pale-green skin darkening to a sickening shade of olive, and proclaimed, “You will never know the comfort of a woman; death travels within you! You are a scourge upon women-kind and shall be swept clean from this world!” Her form then vanished before their eyes; she had no wish to keep it, fouled as it was, leaving behind the men to wonder what they had done to offend their Goddess and ask why they had been given a death sentence. The sentence would not be carried, however, for Macalania neglected to consider one thing, the gift of survival given to the people by Shiva. It would keep the men striving for life, searching for the glimmer of hope promised by Eos each dawn. She had begun a curse that had no end.  
To the north of the planet, the women and any males not yet fully matured were set down by Eos, who had claimed the right to explain why they were also being punished.  
“You have become complacent,” she stated in a soft voice. “Your lives have been paradise and this has led you from the path of morality. One day, you may prove yourselves worthy of paradise again, but until then, here is where you shall stay.” Eos also disappeared, her body restricting her ability to maintain the crooked balance that Macalania claimed was necessary to purify the people. She couldn't totally prevent the world from blooming; the paradise they had previously created had to go somewhere. Hers and her sister's power ensured the barrier between the hot and cold lands was lush and fertile, further taunting the cursed men with the reminder of what they had lost; the land that was fat and blooming just beyond their reach.  
“I will not accept this!” It was the cry of many women. They were innocent and stolen from their men and families, dumped in a frozen wasteland.  
Groups gathered together their things and travelled back through the treacherous mashes and swamplands until they reached the burning desert where their men waited.  
The truth of Macalania's curse soon came to bear. She could not prevent pregnancy; it was a gift already given to her people. But, as each woman died in childbirth, consumed by flames of retribution for sinning with the men, the babies, born too soon, came with deformities that frightened those still to give birth. As their bellies swelled their bodies weakened, many running back to the frozen lands with tales of monsters growing inside them. The women would burst into flame upon the birth of the baby, resulting in them being called “ifrits”: creatures of fire and ash. These deformed children had deformed children of their own and the tales passed from those in the frozen lands grew further away from the truth, until it was lost completely under the weight of this new lore. The ifrit couldn't help but travel to the frozen lands, once they located the path cut by the women; the curse made them crave feminine touch, and with every woman they kidnapped from the icy lands they only strengthened the curse against them, until they were so deformed and beast-like in appearance that any frigidian would argue with all their heart and soul that they were two species and not one.

 

There was still hope, however. Few, who could still hear the voices of the, now absent, Goddesses; worthy men and women given the title of Fayth, and listened to the whispers telling of their history, hinting at how to restore the balance.  
Under the guidance of the Goddesses, the first Fayth sent out parties of explorers; family groups that would scour the land, going as far north as they could before the harsh weather forced them back to the southern border with news. They searched for the only beings capable of overturning a Goddess's hand: the Eidolons. Fabled even before the Fracture, they were servants of Order and rumoured to have the power to set right any injustice done to a world.  
In a city to the far north there had been a temple, a hall of justice, where the Eidolons sat in judgement of high matters. When the world had been covered in ice all of the cities and towns were lost under a blanket of white. There were no longer any roads or paths to follow to find the city, and the arctic weather gave birth to a disease: frostblight, causing death and loss of limbs to any it touched. It was an impossible journey, but the people had the will to try, and so they journeyed every year from spring to fall when they would be forced to return south.  
In the meantime, the Fayth made the exploring families take more and more people with them, which began to cause in fighting when couples formed. As a short term fix, the Fayth decreed a law that stated anyone of the same tribe to be family, and they would be incapable of lying with one of their own. To prove this, they concocted a potion to delay sexual maturity, leaving the men impotent until an antidote was given. The newly formed tribes couldn't argue with this, they had the proof with their own eyes; it must be the law of the Goddesses, they said.  
Seeing the effect the Fayth had on the tribes, they began to hoard information from their people; choosing not to share vital knowledge and allowing other skills already learned to die out in the wake of more _useful_  ones like hunting. They encouraged the formation of a hierarchy based entirely around the warrior class, only permitting those select few already chosen by the Goddesses to join their number and learn healing.  
Over the years, the reasons for giving children a potion at birth became one of many mysteries of the Fayth. As well as why they remained so close to the border, but the other tribes had to travel the frozen lands of Frigdia.

 

Time passed and what was new, became old and what was old became habit and a way of life. The people could not learn any different because they were not taught any different; the Fayth ensured they were ignorant and reliant on them for guidance. The people still travelled the land, but the reason why was now lost. Many indulged in fighting and broke the few laws that were created to prevent in breeding and the type of conduct that got them cursed in the first place. These people became outcasts, few banded together to form rogue tribes that made the harsh, cold world a little more dangerous. Shiva, having occasion to see this and, growing angry, gifted the brave some of her great strength. A frozen kiss to those who felt the cold less than the rest, who could then manipulate it to their will and fight back. In the end the toll it took on the Goddess in sharing so much of herself caused her to fade, becoming as insubstantial as her sisters. They were a presence, a whisper, felt or heard by few. Etro, cared little for anything except ensuring death followed its proper course, and became the only Goddess embodied in the land, though she was never much more than a mysterious figure in black seen at grave sites.  
Macalania, being the Goddess of procreation, could not ignore her duties completely. She slept most of the year, only rising to shower lukewarm blessings on marriage rites, but rarely blessed the couples with many offspring, still feeling bitter towards the people who had betrayed her so utterly.  
Shiva and Eos were full of sorrow for what their world had become, but, without the agreement of their other sisters, could do nothing other than wait for someone to find the Eidolons and use their power to set things right.


	2. Chapter 2

“I swear to the Goddess, Cid, that if you ask me how I am one more time I will send you to the Eternal Frost!” Caleen narrowed her bright, blue eyes at her husband and he began to back away slowly. “I am with child, not an invalid!”  
The Chief of the Stiria tribe knew it was wiser not to reply and escaped from their hut as quickly as possible, breathing a sigh of relief as he stepped out into the frigid air. He nodded to one of his tribesmen, whose wife was also about to give birth, and began making his way around the portion of the Crux camp that had been given over to visiting tribes, to check on his people.  
Though their people had travelled the icy lands of Frigidia for generations, when the time came for babes to be born couples left the tribe and journeyed south to the Crux, it being safer, and the place where the Fayth resided. The acolytes of the four Goddesses were skilled in birthing and other important rituals that even a tribal Chief couldn't conduct. Those newly married also travelled with them to receive the sacred blessing and consummate their unions. Without it, the ceremony wasn't official.  
Cid had left the Stiria in the safe hands of two of his most trusted friends and accompanied his wife, as was tradition; not that she seemed to appreciate his interference. Caleen's temper had steadily grown more volatile the closer she came to the birth; although the last 13 months as a whole had hardly been a joy.  
Deciding to take a walk and give his wife time to cool down, Cid wandered towards the grave site situated inside a cave to the east of the camp. His parents were entombed here, and he wanted to talk to them and tell them of the joy about to come.  
“Forgive me,” he said to the woman cloaked in black, crouched by another tomb. “My kin lies over there.” He gestured to a spot slightly further back where two pillars of ice stood containing the frozen remains of his parents. His mother had died in childbirth many years before his father was taken and her youthful beauty next to his haggard and wrinkled form made Cid all the more sad at how many years they had been parted before Etro reunited them.  
“Not all follow the same path,” the woman in black said, though Cid hadn't voiced his thoughts. “Tragedy is often the spear against the back that forces one off a cliff into the unknown.”  
Cid nodded at this; he remembered lessons from his father that echoed this sentiment, and was foremost in his mind when it came time to lead the tribe. His father would be proud of him, he was sure.  
“He is,” the woman said, rising to her feet and drawing back her hood.  
Cid fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the icy ground. “Blessed Etro! I'm sorry, I didn't mean –”  
“I think you are the one who is blessed,” the Goddess said in a dry tone. The tall, regal woman with midnight skin, scattered with stardust freckles eyed him with a cool, silver gaze. “Do not waste your gifts.”  
“No, no, I won't! Thank you!” There was the briefest brush of Etro's cloak against his splayed fingertips as the Goddess passed him. Still, the Stiria Chief stayed where he was, his mind reeling at having been in the presence of the Goddess of Death. The Fayth had spoken of Etro walking among the people still, but the tales from those who met her were few and far between; many claimed they were stories from frost-addled minds. “She's real,” he whispered, finally sitting up when he began to feel a pain in his head from pressing it too firmly to the ground. He looked at the tomb Etro had been kneeling in front of and saw it was that of a mother holding a baby; the Goddess must have come to personally escort them to the Eternal Frost.  
“Did you see that?” he said to his parents, once he gathered his wits enough to go and greet them. “Etro. The Goddess. Etro,” he repeated, still unable to believe it. “She blessed me. Why? Who am I to deserve such a thing from the lips of a Goddess herself?”

When Cid got back to the camp he heard the sound of a newborn's cry, that mingled with the dying notes of the Vespersong; babes born during the season of Shiva were said to be strong warriors, if they survived. He thought of the fresh tomb he had seen and quietly prayed this family would be alright.  
“Have you a name yet?” he said to his kin, as the babe's father exited the hut, having been allowed a brief greeting with his newborn; he'd been seen sitting outside on the ground for hours patiently waiting the arrival.  
“The Fayth suggested Lumin, after Lady Lumia,” the tribesman replied, pulling a face. “I prefer Nobu,” he whispered, sliding his eyes to the hut, as though the women inside could hear him. They probably could; Fayth had the blessings of the Goddesses and seemed to know things that no one else did.  
“It's your babe,” Cid replied, but knew his kin wouldn't outright defy the Fayth; perhaps one day, but not today.  
The other man frowned and nodded. “Lady Acarna is the one who helped with the birthing and she has been known to be more generous with namings.”  
“Thank yourself lucky she didn't suggest a wholly female name for your son,” the chief chuckled.  
“You should be praying for a daughter in that case; Lady Frejari has been known to give babes her name alone.”  
Cid pulled a face; he didn't want his baby to be named after that sour-faced Fayth. Frejari was the oldest among them, the most experienced, the most arrogant. Cid and she did not see eye to eye on any subject, especially the one of his wife's imminent birthing. He wanted to be inside the hut with Caleen, but Frejari had proclaimed it, _“Not our way”_. Well, Cid was interested in making his own way. Traditions only became such after time passed, but before that time could pass someone had to lead the way; Cid of the Stiria was a born leader.  
Slapping his kinsman on the back and offering his congratulations, he returned to his and Caleen's hut.

 

“Out, out!” Frejari declared to Cid, as her helpers bustled around Caleen, preparing her to give birth. She had been stripped and bathed and given a piece of anointed bark to bite down on when the pain became too much, then positioned so she was leaning against an ice plinth with fur padded grooves for her arms to rest in. She would remain standing to better help the birthing and only once the baby was born would she be allowed to lie down. If she grew too weak there were two helpers to hold her up, as was their people's way.  
“You will have to do more than flick your fingers at me,” Cid replied, crossing his arms over his broad chest and levelling her with a look that spoke volumes.  
“It is not our way!” The elderly Fayth shook her head, shaking free a few strands of silver hair.  
“It is _my_ way,” the Stiria Chief proclaimed.  
“I want him to stay!” Caleen had her back to them, rocking from side to side whenever a contraction hit and hissing her way through the pain. She had managed to draw just enough breath to say this when another squeezed her belly and she grunted, gritting her teeth. She had refused the anointed bark for the moment, having heard whispers of it bringing on hallucinations and excess bleeding. Besides, she was a brave and proud warrior; she could endure any pain.  
“My Lady?” One of Frejari's two helpers paused in gathering blankets and cooled water, and looked to the elderly woman. “Should we not do what is right for the babe?”  
Cid hid his smile at the young tribeswoman; she was one of his, who Caleen had requested be at the birthing for support if Cid couldn't remain.  
“It is right for the babe that a man not be present!” Frejari's thin and narrow frame shook with righteousness. “Babes are the gift of innocence given to us by Macalania. Would you risk angering her for your own selfish pride?”  
“I doubt the Goddess takes offense at me wanting to be beside my wife when the gift we were _both_ given enters this world!” Cid's bravado was partly born from his meeting with Etro; the Goddess of Death had blessed him. It would be a double-edged sword, but it was still divine acknowledgement. His wife was about to give birth to a child they had wanted for the six years of their union; he would not leave!  
The Fayth glared at Caleen's naked back and then at Cid, who stood tall and calm beside the dug out pit filled with a slow burning peat used to warm all the huts without melting the ice they were made from. “This is not done!” Frejari said, finding herself unable to argue why the Stiria Chief should be outside. The orders of the Fayth were never disobeyed! It was for the best! She opened her mouth to order him out again, then sucked in a breath and went very still, tilting her head to one side and shutting her eyes, as if listening to another, more important voice. “The Goddess says you may stay,” she said at last, opening her eyes again. “You are braver than other men, says our Blessed Shiva.”  
Cid's blue eyes widened, and as before in the graveyard with Etro, he dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “I thank the Blessed Shiva for this honor,” he said reverently. It was unheard of for Shiva to be present during birthings; the Goddess was more known for an icy touch in the midst of battle, gifting the brave with magic to manipulate ice. He wondered for a moment if Macalania or Eos would also appear to complete the holy quartet.  
Frejari touched the top of his dark head and then turned back to focus on Caleen, who had also bowed her head at hearing the Fayth's words, quietly humming and rocking her way through her contractions.

Many hours passed with no sound from the hut other than the voices of the Fayth and her helpers singing the Vespersong; a holy hymn to rouse Macalania and the other Goddesses and connect the new life with those who had passed into the Eternal Frost.  
The cry of the baby came as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting shades of brilliant gold and blinding white across the landscape. The last rays turned the snow red, as if blood had been spilled; a divine reminder to Cid that Etro's blessing didn't come for free, not that he saw it, being inside the hut as he was.  
Having cleaned and swaddled the newborn, Frejari cradled it to her chest, looking down into the innocent face. “Looks like her, thankfully,” she commented to Cid, who narrowed his eyes at the Fayth. “She will be called Frejari.”  
“She will not,” Cid argued. “We were in the presence of a Goddess, one gifted for survival. She came to us and gave us _her_  blessing for our child. Would you insult the Blessed Shiva by denying the child her name in honor?”  
Frejari knew she would look petty if she refused; she who had the ear of Goddesses knew that Shiva walked the battlefield. She had been shocked to stillness on hearing the matter-of-fact tone telling her the man before her had a powerful destiny and she should not stand in his way. Frejari hid her fury and somehow managed to pass the blessing onto Cid, though she wanted to curl her fingers into his black hair and rip it out by the roots. How did a man have a powerful destiny, blessed by the Goddesses? It was men who caused all this! Frejari felt betrayed in that moment, though she smiled grimly and nodded in agreement. “Yes. The Goddess should be honored and the child will have much to live up to with such a name.” She made it sound as though the baby had been cursed.  
Caleen, who had been made comfortable on a bed of furs, held her arms out for the baby. “My whytkin,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “My Shiva.”  
“Yes, your Shiva,” Frejari agreed, handing the baby to her.

 

With the newly wedded couples having received their blessing, and those preparing to birth having done so, the small group set out a few days later, returning north to meet up with their tribe, though they would all soon be back again at the Crux camp to weather out the worst of the winter season. The trackers among their party took point, one being the man who Cid had spoken to previously. His name was Kellon and he had succeeded in swaying the Fayth into naming his child Nobu, which made the chief very proud.  
All of his people were of the similar mind that the way things had been done wasn't the way they should always be done. He and another tribe chief, Ipsen, often spoke at length on the matter whenever the two tribes met up, which was more often than they told the Fayth. No one knew the reason for it, but the holy ones didn't want the tribes to have too much contact outside of their grounds and were usually very annoyed whenever couples came saying chiefs had married them. Of course, Cid strived to unite as many of his people as he could, and not just to annoy Frejari and her kind. It was almost laughable to think the Crux had a Chief since Frejari usually led every gathering and had done so for the past sixty years, and would for at least another fifty if Etro didn't take her sooner.  
Having been staring a spot on the back of his chocobo's head as they rode three abreast through the densely packed snow, Cid looked to his wife, who had their babe strung across her chest in a sling. He couldn't describe the emotion that welled up within him. He had plans for his sweet Shiva, and his whole tribe. Their people didn't deserve such uncertainty in their lives, and now he was a father, he felt that more strongly than ever. The risks their people took were for what? They travelled north, following well worn trails that suddenly ended. They would then forge ahead into the unknown, only to turn back when the bitter frost of Etro's season came upon them. To do otherwise was to risk the frostblight. Rejoining the other tribes in the south, they would wait for the thaw and then repeat the trip all over again; only the Fayth knew the reason why they did this and they weren't talking.  
Cid frowned heavily; he knew the Fayth were the voices of the Goddesses, but that shouldn't mean they weren't accountable to the people.  
“Your face will freeze that way if you frown any longer.” Caleen's mellow voice cut through his thoughts and Cid smiled at her.  
“Just thinking.”  
“I could tell,” she said, amused. “My dreamer, who wants to change the world. You cannot do so by force alone.”  
Cid shrugged, bashful at how well his wife knew his innermost thoughts; he and Ipsen had discussed merging their tribes into one. Both were chiefs, so both were of the mind that they should lead, which was one of a few sticking points in their discussions. Ipsen's wife had brought up the option of marrying their son to a daughter, if Cid had one. Their people didn't usually begin to think of marriage until their fourth decade, once they had done their duty as warriors to the tribe.  
_“If they are younger, they are stronger,” Rinoa had offered, her sapphire eyes going to where her young son lay napping in her arms. Taran was barely two and she already suspected that the potion he'd been given at birth was something to delay his maturity; to make him focus only on being a warrior, until he had little strength left to pass onto a new generation. She didn't want him to suffer the same sadness and struggles she had to have children._  
The Stiria Chief had found this to be an interesting idea, something none of them had considered before. “A girl, Caleen,” he said, nodding towards the sleeping baby. “A son would have been a blessing as well, but a girl was given to us. Do you not consider the Goddesses gave her to us as a sign that our plans are blessed? That they want the same thing we do?”  
Caleen shook her head, the beads on her dark braids clicking together. “I do not know, husband.” She looked down at the baby, also. “But, I do know if you fight against fate it will strike you down.”  
Cid snorted. “How do we know what fate even is? Is it what the Fayth tell us? Or is it the path we cut for ourselves? Sometimes we hold the spear and sometimes it is at our back.”  
“You will be speared if you do not act with some caution,” she shot back in a stern hiss. “You want to run to some shining future, but the only thing that glitters in this place is the light upon the frost.”  
“Eos gifts us with the light to show us that hope is everywhere and in everything.”  
Caleen made a frustrated sound in her throat. “Everything in this world kills and you would have us change everything, risk everything,” she looked down at the baby again, “for what?”  
“For paradise,” he murmured.  
“Paradise is what you make of it.”  
Cid fell silent, knowing he wouldn't change his wife's opinion, but was confident she would follow the tracks he made. Caleen was a strong warrior, given the gift of Shiva's frozen touch during one particularly hard battle when she was younger; the marks of which were still visible: a scar from a spear lay over her heart. It should have killed her, but Caleen had been doubly blessed in that her heart lay on the other side of her chest. She had risen up, with Shiva's gift chilling her fingers, and frozen half the invading, rogue tribe. The rest had run, as well they should.

 

The group made good time, but several days still passed before Kollen called out that he'd found the tribe's trail. Once they had the exact direction it was only a couple of days more and they were back among the Stiria.  
“My babe!” Cid proclaimed proudly as they gathered around the approaching group, having been warned of their approach by the Stiria scouts. “Shiva!” He held her up and the baby blinked sleepily at all the fuss and noise. She was passed around like a precious jewel, along with the other new arrival, so they could be greeted properly. Caleen could be heard telling how Cid had beaten down Frejari to remain in the hut for the birth and how they had been blessed by a Goddess's presence.  
“My brother,” Weskam greeted his chief, slapping him on the back, “in truth I don't know what to say. I have never heard of the Blessed Shiva speaking to the Fayth on such matters.”  
“I, as well,” Cid agreed, “but, it happened. Frejari looked as if she had sucked on yellow snow when Blessed Shiva intervened.”  
“Why would the Goddess want you at the birth?”  
Cid shrugged, not wanting to share his thoughts so soon. “I don't know, but I tell you this, pnudran, it is worse than any injury you could ever gain in battle.”


	3. Chapter 3

The winter season was upon them. The tribes of Frigidia were all gathering together in the south, where the weather was less harsh. It was still cold; the ground blanketed with a thick layer of snow, but over the nearby rise, a few hundred feet away, was an explosion of greenery as the jungles of the borderlands stretched from east to west as far as the eye could see. For the most part they were unexplored, being home to dangerous beasts and treacherous swamplands; only the most experienced of hunter teams were allowed to accompany the Fayth to collect the vital herbs needed to perform the mysterious art of healing.

The Crux's village of ice huts was ten times the size it was during birthings; all the tribes jostling for space. There were shouts of friendly competition between the Ice-Weavers and the Builders as to who could put up the most huts the fastest; given the Weavers used magic they had an edge, but as long as the Builders had their ice bricks pre-cut they would give them a fair game. It was a familiar sight whenever camps were set up; a way to speed up putting together shelters, and make it more enjoyable.

A large patch of ground had been mostly cleared of snow, although fat, white flakes tried their hardest to cover it up again. Here would be a mix of combat and dancing, fighting and celebrating with instruments carved from ice placed all around the edge for anyone with talent to pick up and join in. From inside some of the huts the sound of laughter as games of Dra Rihdan'c Kysa and Dneyt Lyntc were played; the former using a mix of hand carved pieces set up in the corners of a diamond-shaped board, and the latter a set of cards made from wood that were carefully painted with images of monsters and given point values.

 

 

Sitting outside her hut, Caleen nodded respectfully to a passing Fayth, then turned to her sister, Temia. “Are you sure you want to be one of them?”

“I think we can agree I am not the greatest warrior,” the younger woman replied with a wry smile. Temia was Cid's sister by blood and still had a few years to go before she could qualify as a Fayth's apprentice. Even then, it would be several more before they knew whether the Goddesses would accept her as a Fayth.

“It could be for nothing,” Caleen reminded her, still unable to understand why her sister wanted to join the holy ones.

“As Fayth, I would be able to learn so many secrets, things that could help our people,” Temia said in a whisper, knowing the Fayth would refuse her if they knew what she planned. “Cid is right, they should not keep secrets from us and let us suffer.”

Caleen sighed. “I know.” She had heard this argument many times from both siblings, and Ipsen as well. She wanted a better life for her people too, but the risks involved did not weigh well against the benefits, unknown as they were. Caleen wanted to be certain of the path ahead before she threw her weight behind any plan; her daughter's future was part of it, after all. She looked to where Shiva had been sat playing and then gasped. “Where is she?” She stood up and looked around, panic filling her breast and making her heart beat hard. “I only took my eyes off her for a moment!”

Temia rose also and ran around the hut, hoping the two-year old had simply toddled off a little. “She's not here!” she cried, rounding it and almost bumping into Caleen.

The women split up and weaved through the village of ice huts, asking everyone they saw if a babe had come by. Shiva would come to no harm within the village itself, but they were close to the border...there were many things in the jungles and swamplands, to say nothing of the Ifrits in the deserts beyond. Though, Caleen couldn't believe a tiny whytkin could get so far, so fast. She even went so far as to waylay a Fayth and ask if she had seen her babe.

“If I had, how would I know?” she replied coldly. “They all look the same.”

“There speaks a woman who has not had the blessing of Macalania,” Caleen spat, pushing past her. It was true that all Frigidians shared a common appearance of black hair, pale skin and blue eyes, but there were marked differences between them if one knew what to look for; and a mother _always_  knew her child.

 

 

Little Shiva, barely two years old, was sitting on a patch of strange, green stuff. It felt odd under her little fingertips and she giggled, brushing it back and forth. “Nice,” she said, patting it and making kissing noises. She looked up and pointed at more funny, green stuff. “Wha?” she said, looking around for an adult to answer. “Ma?” Shiva got to her feet and toddled a few steps. “Ma? Ma? Ma? Ma?” She plonked back down and started to cry. “Ma!” A rustling from the green things made her stop crying suddenly. “Ma?” An orb of pink light bobbed about and Shiva tilted her head at it. “Wha?” She pointed and looked for her mother again. “Ma?” Her face crumpled.

The orb of light burst from the foliage, revealing itself to be a small, bear-like, creature with cream fur and a pair of equally small wings on its back; the orb was a pompom on its head. It fluttered over to the babe and said, “Kupo?”

Shiva stopped crying again. “Ma,” she said, scrubbing her face with her little fists.

The funny creature patted her on the head with a small paw and said, “Kupo,” in a way that made it sound like an instruction.

“Ma,” Shiva replied, getting up again.

Another rustle from the greenery and Shiva took a step towards it, only to be held back by the fluttering, furry creature. “Kupo,” it said, shaking it's round head, bobble waving madly. “Kupo.”

The green turned orange and Shiva's light-blue eyes widened. “Bad,” she whispered, instinctively clutching the creature and twisting around. She spotted the ice huts in the distance and cried out, “Ma!”

Heat wafted towards them and the creature grabbed hold of the little girl and picked her up, straining under her weight and flapping its wings furiously. “Kupo,” it grunted, half dragging, half flying the little girl away from the approaching danger.

They crashed into some snow a few feet from the first hut and Shiva wailed for her mother. “Ma! Ma! Ma!”

Cid heard her and came running, sliding to a halt when he saw the Moogle brushing snowflakes from its head. Caleen rushed past him, uncaring of the creature, and scooped up her baby. “Shiva,” she murmured, kissing the sobbing child's chubby cheeks. “My babe!”

The Moogle straightened its wonky bobble and said, “Kupo.” It nodded once, then fluttered off back towards the jungle.

“Did you see that?” Cid said in a daze to his wife, as he stroked Shiva's head and kissed her. “A moogle.”

Caleen didn't even care at this point; she was just happy Shiva was safe. “I'm never letting you out of my sight again,” she said to the baby who was clinging to her tightly.

 

 

“How did she even get that far away?” Cid mused later that night, standing behind his hut and talking in a low voice to Ipsen. The other Chief's people had only arrived that evening and the two made a habit not to be seen too often together, having picked up from the Fayth that close ties between tribes were viewed with suspicion. However, the Stiria Chief couldn't help but consult with his friend on this matter.

“Someone must have taken her,” Ipsen replied, not wanting to consider such a thing in the heart of the Crux camp. The second he heard about it he had told Rinoa to keep a tight hold on Taran, just in case a rogue tribesman had snuck into the area.

“Who? Who would take a babe and leave her out there?” Children were innocent and precious and fairly rare among the tribes; any born were treated as a gift to all and the caring of them was shared between everyone, though their parents still took priority.

“Someone who knew about our plan?” Ipsent suggested, shrugging. “Or someone you have made an enemy of.”

“That would be the Fayth,” Cid replied, shaking his head. “Though not even they would risk such a thing.” He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “At least no harm came to her. Did I say a moogle brought her back?”

Ipsen chuckled. “Several times. It's understandable a path-finder would get to her first if it was nearby.”

“There was divine influence at work today.” He didn't know which Goddess to thank, so had given offerings to each of them at sundown; his child was safe and that was all that mattered in the end.

 

 

The Fayth stumbled over vines and swatted at bugs flying into her face. All the while she muttered dark oaths under her breath at being the one who was sent out into the jungle at night to find out what had gone wrong. Frejari had been furious when she spied the Stiria Chief's whytkin back safely.

_"You were supposed to leave her at the border!” the elderly Fayth's voice didn't rise above a whisper, but her rage was ice cold._

_“I did!” the younger Fayth replied, not thinking to hold her tongue._

_“I saw her! Do not lie to me!” She paced back and forth in the hut like a caged animal, the many fine layers she wore swirling about as though they were being buffeted by strong winds. “Go to the border and tell him she's not there anymore.” Frejari's eyes flicked over the younger woman; she was still within child bearing age, and might just be enough to placate the Ifrit waiting. Perhaps it was all for the better that Shiva had returned to the camp; giving an innocent to Ifrit hadn't been her best idea. She had wanted to strike back at Cid for his many and continued insults, but she would find a better way. In the meantime...“What are you still doing here? Go!”_

“You're older than she said.” The growling voice of the Ifrit made the Fayth halt in her tracks. She had been so busy berating Frejari in her mind that she had failed to notice the fiery aura of the beast-man growing near.

“I am a Fayth,” she proclaimed in a cold voice. “I am here to tell you that the promised one was returned to the tribe, so you should go back where you came from!”

The Ifrit's lips drew back, revealing blackened gums and sharp, white teeth. “Is that so?” he said in a voice that was all the more sinister for its lisping lilt. His blue eyes narrowed to slits and a clawed hand darted out to snatch hold of the Fayth's arm, his burning touched scalding her chilled skin.

“No, let me go!” She screamed and struggled, but was no match for his superior strength. He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. “No! I am a Fayth of the Crux tribe!”

“Mog!” the Ifrit yelled, and the same Moogle as before appeared. “Take me back,” he ordered, pointing vaguely to the south.

The Moogle's wings flapped furiously. It turned and sped off through the jungle, leaving a glowing, pink trail for the Ifrit to follow back to the desert. The furry creatures had little choice but to do as the beast-men said. They were friendly, curious and far too easy to catch; it also turned out they were very tasty. Whenever a Moogle's bobble lost its glow they would find themselves being prepared for dinner.

The Ifrit secured the struggling woman, giving her a clout round the head to knock her out, and then plodded slowly after Mog; he knew the creature was responsible for the little girl being gone when he arrived at the place the Fayth told him to be. The fuzzy thing had returned a few moments afterwards repeating, “Kupo,” at him until he roared at it to shut up. Little girls were useless, babes even more so; he didn't need some furball telling him that. The Fayth promised him a woman, and if Mog hadn't taken the child back to the village, a woman he would have had in the mother or another who came to fetch her. Instead he was stuck with some ageing hag. The Ifrit snorted to himself; these women were so pompous, but a woman was a woman was a woman, and at least this one was already mature enough to breed on. He had several clansmen who were almost rabid with need and she would have to be enough to satisfy them until the warmer weather came and they could trek into the icy territories looking for the pale tribeswomen to bring back and claim as their own. The Ifrit could have taken the risk and attacked now, but with the full might of the tribes gathered together they were no match, and none of them was stupid enough to take the risk. While they waited for the thaw they would sneak and take anyone unwise enough to wander too close to the border; it was their only choice if they didn't want to be driven mad with fever-lust. 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Chief!” The scout weaved his way towards Cid, chest heaving from running. “Up on the ridge,” the pochikas said, pointing to the top of the cliff the tribe had settled beside for the next few days.

Not being a mind reader, Cid gestured for the boy to continue.

“A tracker was spotted.”

This wasn't potentially good news; rogue tribes still used many of the ways of the people, so the tracker could be a threat. For this reason alone any sighting of another tribe carried a sense of danger.

Cid looked around for a likely helper. “Brael,” he called to the warrior of middling years. “Go with Irin and protect him if they turn out to be hostile.”

The scout looked up at the grizzled warrior. “Try and keep up, old man,” he joked, earning a gentle cuff round the head. The pair departed at a jog, with Brael pausing to snatch up a large axe that was resting by a hut on his way; it didn't belong to him, but beggers couldn't be choosers. Everyone they passed was given the message another tribe was coming and to go to the chief for their orders.

Cid had to quickly organise his people. “Atia, make preparations with the warriors; take Sal and Inka with you. Heren, get the elder whytkins to clear through the camp, we don't want anything blocking the way. Sorcha, the babes are your responsibility. We must be prepared for either outcome!” Cid went on issuing orders like this until there was no one left before him, except one small child. He crouched down, the snow crunching beneath his knee, the cold seeping into his leather knee pad. “Would you like a job to do?” he asked, blue eyes twinkling.

The little girl nodded furiously. “I wanna help!”

“Do you not want to go with Sorcha?”

“No!”

Cid chuckled. “Alright!” He stood up and lifted the four year old onto his shoulders. “You keep an eye out for anyone shirking their duties.” She would be safer with him for the moment at any rate, he thought to himself.

“Yes!”

Sitting regally on her father's shoulders, Shiva yelled at everyone they passed, with no exceptions, as they went through the camp checking everything was in order. On one hand, weapons were being taken up and armour helped into; the heavy leather gave free movement but was still strong enough to stop a few arrows before it gave in. On the other, men and women were subtly tidying themselves; if the tribe was friendly there was the chance they would meet someone and when everyone carried a similar appearance, anything they could do to stand out mattered.

The whytkins were being herded into a hut the farthest from the approaching tribe as they could be. Sorcha had enlisted Temia, who was limping from having crocked her ankle leaping off a chocobo; Cid's sister wouldn't be much help if they were fighting, but she was still able to defend the babes to the death if need be.

“Temia!” Shiva screamed at her aunt, making the woman jump, then laugh and wave to the little girl.

Preparations seemed to be completed in an instant, which pleased Cid with how quickly his tribe reacted; they were a force to be reckoned with.

“Stop making a mess!” Shiva giggled as Irin returned, sliding to a halt in front of them. “You're putting snow everywhere!”

He grinned and stuck his tongue out at her. “Chief,” he said to Cid in a respectful voice. “The other tribe's token.” He handed a palm-sized, stone tablet to the elder man.

“Where's Brael?” Cid asked, wanting to make sure both of them had come back safely.

“Stayed with them,” Irin replied. “Said him and one of theirs was in the middle of a game and he wanted to get on with it.”

The Chief laughed, guessing who Brael was speaking of. “Yes, they've been playing the same game for...three years now.”

Irin pulled a face. “Are they not any good?”

“The problem is they are both _very_  good,” Cid confided. “Spread the word, no one has to worry.” He glanced down at the token to confirm it was who he assumed. “It's the Nyx.”

“We're not fighting them?” Shiva asked, as the boy ran off.

“Ah, I forgot you were up there, little one. You were so quiet!” Cid jiggled her and she laughed. “No, we're not fighting them. The Nyx are old friends.” It had been several years since the two tribes had met away from the Crux, and the times they were together in the south there was little chance for the tribes to interact in the way the two men wanted. The last time Cid saw them, Ipsen was celebrating Rinoa's impending birthing; the couple had been anxious for children before Taran had been born, and woman's desire for more babes hadn't waned in the years between. “She would have had it by now,” he mused.

“Would have had what, Da?” Shiva tilted her head. “Can I see it?” She tried reaching for the token and Cid handed it to her.

“Careful with that. Ipsen might not be too pleased to have to carve another. His talent isn't great.”

Shiva ran her finger over the markings on the stone, taken with it as only a small child can be.

Moving through the collection of huts, Cid hid a smile as he saw warriors stripping down and changing into more decorative clothing, others polishing weapons to a high shine, and yet more carefully examining their gaming boards and pieces for any defects; visitors were a time for merriment and matchmaking, with an eager atmosphere filling the air as everyone hurried to prepare their most impressive attributes in hopes of securing a mate. Only those most seasoned warriors with a minimum of fifteen years under their belts were permitted to search for a mate, but it didn't stop the slightly younger ones from looking.

“Why you laughing, Da?” Shiva pulled on a lock of her father's dark hair to get his attention.

“I was thinking of the effort I went to when I met your mother. She was one of her tribe's best warriors. I had seen her a few times at the Crux gathering, but I thought she would never notice me.” Cid chuckled at the thought of his youthful self; all the years he'd waited until his father had said he was mature enough to make an offer for Caleen. He remembered worrying that each time his father denied his request she would find someone else, but she never did. “I could barely tell her my name when I finally did meet her properly.”

As Shiva giggled at her father being tongue-tied there came a shout.

“There she is!”

“Ah, I was just thinking of you!” Cid reached out with one arm to draw his wife into an embrace.

“Really?” Caleen said sternly, though she was smiling. “I was thinking of where our daughter was, but I should have known she'd be wherever you were.” She shook her head, even as she moved to kiss Cid. “Come here, Shiva,” she said, reaching for the little girl.

“No!” Shiva replied, stubbornly. “Wanna stay with da.”

“Tch! What would the other tribe say if they saw the Chief's daughter looking like a woolly-gator?”

Cid passed Shiva over, ignoring her protests. “Your mother is right, whytkin.”

The four year old glared as only a four year old can, but let her mother lead her away, as her father mimed being struck through the heart at such a look, making her giggle.

 

 

“Rammu, Ipsen of Nyx!” Cid clasped the man's wrist with one hand and lightly slapped his shoulder with the other. “It's been too long, my friend.”

“Rammu, Cid of the Stiria,” Ipsen returned the greeting. “It has been that, old man.”

“Old man!” Cid laughed and gestured at the few strands of silver in Ipsen's hair. “Which of us is old?”

“Ah, time will catch you too, one day,” he chuckled, but there was a sad edge to it.

“Never!”

The rest of the tribes moved to greet each other; those that were friends quickly falling into conversation, as others who were looking for a mate greeted the person who caught their interest; the next thirteen days would be filled with merriment and many amusements as the tribe sought to become closer entwined.

Cid gestured for Caleen to come forward, bringing Shiva with her. “You remember my wife and daughter,” he said.

Caleen inclined her head, though her eyes moved past Ipsen to search for Rinoa.

Shiva frowned up at Ipsen.

“My, this one is serious,” he said, crouching down to look the little girl in the eye.

“We were gonna war with you, but then we weren't. I'm gonna be a warrior! My da said you can't carve tokens,” she said in a single breath.

“He did, did he?” Ipsen looked at Cid with raised eyebrows.

“Whytkins,” the chief replied with a shrug.

“What did you think of my token?” The Nyx chief asked the little girl.

“I carve better.”

“Shiva!” Caleen berated. “Where is Rinoa?” she said to Ipsen.

The Nyx Chief laughed loudly and Shiva smiled and began to giggle. “Taran, come here!” he called over his shoulder and a skinny, little boy of about seven, with black hair, pale-blue eyes and a melancholy look stepped forwards. “My son,” he began in a confiding voice to the little girl, “has been very sad for a long time.” He glanced up at Caleen and a fleeting emotion passed over his face, before he focused on Shiva once more. “His mother weaves lace in the Eternal Frost, so he no longer smiles.” He gestured for her to come closer, as Caleen smothered a gasp. “I think you have a gift for making others smile, would you share it with Taran?”

Shiva's light-blue eyes widened slightly and she nodded seriously. “I will!” she said firmly.

“Good girl,” Ipsen smiled and stood up.

“Blessings on your wife,” Caleen said, blinking rapidly, as Shiva shook her hand free and ran over to the little boy.

“Yes, many blessings,” Cid added, eyeing the two children as his daughter tried to get Taran to pay attention to her. “She won't give up until he smiles,” he said.

“It would be a gift if he did,” Ipsen replied, navy eyes staring sadly at his son. His wife's death had been a recent tragedy to the tribe; she had been absorbed by a vmyh along with two others taken by surprise by the gelatinous monsters while on their way to the Crux for Rinoa's birthing. It still gave him nightmares, but he had to remain strong for his son's sake. He refused to wonder about the babe that had never had the chance for life, but the event had strengthened his resolve to change their people's ways. His wife shouldn't have died, and neither should those who hadn't even had the chance to properly confirm their wedding rites. The surviving man and woman were lost and confused, Ipsen was too, but didn't know how to help them; he had failed as a Chief, warrior and husband.

 

 

The Nyx tribe had been with the Stiria for a few days and already both Chiefs were being asked to preside over marriage unions. It was very encouraging, but nothing had been settled yet; there was still time.

“Shiva will get him smiling again, you will see,” Cid said, drawing his friend from his thoughts, as he and Ipsen watched the two little ones run off to play. Well, Taran ran off and Shiva followed, but they always returned side by side.

“I think you are testing fate with this plan,” Caleen said as the two men returned inside the hut. She and Cid's younger sister, Temia, were sitting on cushions in front of a low, circular table. “Children should not be forced to be together.”

“We're not forcing them,” Ipsen argued calmly, taking a seat. “We're merely encouraging them.” It was his wife's desire that Taran be strong when he married; she had the idea that his youth would allow him to have children more easily. It was all Ipsen could do to ensure her wish was carried out.

Cid hummed in agreement. “If they wed young they could unite the tribes for far longer. We lead together, in council, until they are mature enough to do it and by then it will be second nature to them, and everyone else, that we are one.” It was a sound plan, he thought. “The Goddesses must agree; why else would they give us a daughter?”

“I believe some of them agree,” Temia said, in her soft voice. She wasn't far off the time when she would have the chance to have children of her own, if she found a suitable mate. She had promised that she would carry out the Stiria tribe's dream and pursue the path of the Fayth, no matter where she ended up.

“Caleen, I understand you're worried,” Ipsen spoke up. “My own wife was also, but she said to me that the way things are now should not be the way they remain. We are a people of the ice, yes, but we are also trapped by it. Unless we find a way to break free it will eventually kill us.”

“That is if the rogue tribes or the Ifrit do not first,” Temia added darkly.

Caleen threw her hands up in frustration. “I see I am out matched in this bout, so I will withdraw. But,” she said standing up and levelling them all with a speaking look, “if my daughter is unhappy with how you are managing her life I  _will_  put an end to this.” She left them to it, hearing them breathe sighs of relief as she dropped the flap on the hut behind her.

“That is some temper she has,” Ipsen commented to break the silence.

“I know,” Cid smiled; Caleen's passionate nature had been one of the things that had drawn him to her in the first place.

 

 

The children of the two tribes were playing in the snow close to the huts. Some had practice weapons carved from the bones of monsters slain on hunts, and the sound of them clashing together echoed in short thwacks. Some of them were talking about being sent on their first scouting tasks soon and what they hoped they might see. Then there were others organised into groups by Taran to have a snowball fight. The little boy had a good aim and natural leadership skills, although it had taken Shiva scowling at her kin to make the rest of them do as the boy said. She had been trying for the last few days to make him smile and if a snowball fight would do that she would make it the best fight in all their tribes memory.

“You are the worst at making snowballs,” he panted to Shiva, crouching down next to her as she tried to gather together enough snow to make a ball. “Here, you do it like this.” He easily scooped some up, formed an orb and threw it, hitting a member of the opposing team.

“I'm trying,” Shiva replied, frowning. “I'm little, my hands are smaller!” She grabbed a couple of fistfuls and squished them together to make a small snowball. She threw it and it landed a few feet away.

“You're too little for this game; go back home,” Taran ordered, pointing at the huts.

Shiva narrowed her eyes at him. “You're mean!” she yelled, shoving him.

Taran lost his balance and fell over. “You're mean!” he yelled back, getting up and dusting snow from his back.

“Why are you shouting at our sister?” The other Stiria children came running over; the eldest boy and girl put themselves in front of Taran, while the remaining gathered around the little whytkin and made sure she was alright.

“She started it,” Taran grumped, waving off his own kin who were looking to see if he wanted their help.

“I did not!” Shiva shot back. “You are a big meanie and you're not my friend anymore!” she pushed past the whytkins and kicked Taran in the shin. “Meanie!” She stomped off and the others followed, the Stiria tribe sticking together and leaving the Nyx children to comfort their own.

 

“I'm sorry,” Taran whispered to Shiva, as the two tribes gathered inside the animal hide tent to eat dinner. One side had been drawn out and extended to allow the Nyx to attach it to their own hide tent, making an indoor space that was warm, yet cosy, despite the large size. “I shouldn't have said mean things to you. Please be my friend still.”

Shiva pulled her lower lip between her teeth and sucked on it thoughtfully.

“You'll get a fat lip doing that,” Taran joked in a melancholic way.

The little girl released her lip and scowled at the boy. “You are always saying mean things to me. Be nicer.”

“I will, if you be my friend.”

“Yes,” she agreed, smiling.

 

 

“Brothers, sisters!” Cid called attention and the two peoples' gradually became silent as they focused on the Stirian chief, standing on a raised platform of ice. Beside him was Caleen and on his other side was Ipsen.

The past twelve days had been filled with much laughter and merriment. Dances had been organised, feats of strength and matches of wits, hunts and magical talents shown off. All the while men from each tribe came to the shelters of Cid and Ipsen to make offers for the women that had captured their interest. Each arrangement was given careful consideration and thought; both chiefs acting in the best interest of the female first and the entire tribe second. A happy match strengthened the tribe, but an unhappy match weakened it. Neither man went easy on the warriors. Some were given an outright rejection, but those that proved themselves true now stood before the rest of the tribes on the thirteenth day of accession, and spoke words to bind themselves to their chosen mate. After this public display, they would withdraw to one of the shelters to be inked with matching designs that proclaimed them a bonded pair; they would then travel to the south and the Crux tribe to receive the blessing of the Fayth and the Goddesses, giving the men virility to procreate.

“Let us celebrate the strengthening ties between our two tribes!” Cid said in a strong, clear voice. The six couples turned as a group and the crowd chanted their names and cheered.

“Now we sing to those in the eternal frost, that they might share our peoples' joy!” Ipsen shut his eyes briefly at this, he and Cid clasped each other's wrist, both pleased with this result, as well as with how their own, private arrangement was turning out.

The people looked up to the sky and sang the Vespersong: an ancient and sacred song to all frigidians. The whytkins, gathered at the front of the crowd, sang too.

 

The past thirteen days, Taran of Nyx had learned that Shiva of the Stiria was stubborn, friendly, kind and forgiving. He had been rude and mean to her, she was right, and only realized how much he wanted to be on good terms with her when she refused to come play with him after their snowball fight. He'd spent a miserable day wandering about the camp ground wondering what to do with himself. He was glad he'd apologized to the little girl and that they were friends again. He'd even told her a story that his mother used to tell him, and started calling Shiva “princess” afterwards because she kept insisting everyone play out the events until all the other children got annoyed with her and buried her in a snow-bank.

He looked over to see her frowning at him, tilting her head to the side, scruffy braids whipping about.

“What are you looking at?” he'd whispered in a cross voice.

“To see if you're smiling,” she replied, like it was obvious.

“Why?” Taran frowned.

“Because it's my gift and if you don't smile I haven't done it right!” The four year old rolled her eyes.

Taran's lips twitched. “Did my da tell you that?”

She nodded. “I'm good at it, and lots of things. Everyone tells me!”

“Did someone say you're good at singing?” he asked, hearing her singing the wrong words to the Vespersong in an off key voice.

The little girl nodded seriously, still singing loudly, as only a four year old can.

The little boy snorted quietly. “You're such a princess.”

“Am not!” Shiva broke off to yell at him. “Da, tell him I'm good at singing!”

Cid looked at his daughter and raised his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” she said quietly and glared at Taran, trying not to cry. “You got me in trouble!” she hissed.

“Sorry,” he said, feeling a smile touching his lips as he patted her shoulder. “but you are a princess.”

She pulled a face at him and then beamed as she noticed his expression. “But I told you I was good at making people smile!”

 

 

The tribes waved off the newly weds the following day and then each other as well; their trackers finding different routes to follow in search of hunting grounds further north. They had several more months of this before they would be driven south by the cold weather once again. The women newly married would return to their husband's tribes and become part of them, not seeing their own people until they met up once again.

“Did Ipsen tell you what happened to her?” Caleen asked in a quiet moment to Cid, as the tribe rode and walked behind the trackers.

“He did.” He silenced his wife's follow up question with a look. “You would not wish to see it.”

Caleen shut her eyes, feeling a sharp pain in her chest. “How he must hurt,” she murmured, pressing a hand against the spot.

“Change cannot come soon enough, I think.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Sweat trickled down his brow and Ashkenaz wiped it away irritably. Mallet in hand, he struck the tip of the blade he was working on, refining the edge to a point. His blue gaze was focused on the half-formed sword as he turned and struck it, using heat and strength to forge it into something deadly. When he was finally satisfied with his work he plunged it into a bucket of water, kept cold with perma-frost taken from the frozen lands on the other side of the jungle. The metal hardened instantly and Ashkenaz removed the blade and examined it with an expert eye. Yes, it would do for the younger ones. The swords of the Novans didn't need to be perfect, for the ice people only had flimsy bone in comparison; a few good strikes and whatever they were using would break.

The harshest time of year was passing, soon the men would make for the icy territories to pillage the tribes. Ashkenaz growled softly to himself at the thought of women being among them again; the last one had died giving birth months ago, leaving them all bereft. There were no female children born to the Novans, the witch Goddess, Macalania had seen to it that his people were punished at every turn. If they did not take what they wanted they were driven to madness and forced to be put out of their misery. It was no way to live, but in the many generations since they had been cursed, not one of them had discovered a way to break it. Ashkenaz had scoured the books and tomes and ancient writings in the abandoned ruins, but nothing spoke of a way to undo what had been done.

The Hags were also unhelpful, apart from the use of their bodies. The Novan Sage, Ignis, had spoken to each of the ones brought to them, and eventually hit the wall of their knowledge. It seemed all peoples were ignorant, though the Fayth of the ice dwellers made their kind worse off by not sharing the little they knew. It was one of the few times Ashkenaz was grateful for his people's ways. Their knowledge was incomplete, but it was better than being illiterate.

Having finished his work for the day, and feeling the heat beginning to abate as the sun set, he straightened up and eased his aching back; using one clawed hand to rub the opposite shoulder. Being in the forge was like working in hell itself, though his job could have been worse; he could have been stuck watching over the mad ones or the young.

Exiting the forge, Ashkenaz nodded to those he passed as he headed to meet his friend, Rowtag. He was the one who had been given the task watching the fevered ones that day. The building they were kept in was shunned by all except whoever's turn it was to care for those inside; none of the men needed the reminder of their fate if they could not contain their lust.

Rowtag was exiting as Ashkenaz reached the door. “How did it go?” he said, slapping his friend on the back in greeting.

“Shit,” Rowtag replied, sighing heavily. “Did you know Firion was in there?”

Ashkenaz shook his head; the young man had reached maturity just as the last woman died, leaving him none to slake his desires on. It wasn't a surprise to hear that he had been driven to madness from the lack.

“I had to end him,” Rowtag added, shaking his head sadly. “This torment, do we deserve it? Why?”

It was a familiar phrase uttered by all of the men at one time or another. None of them had an answer. Because of some ancestor, long dead, whose name wasn't even known, they suffered. The cruel Goddess, Macalania, never seeming to be satisfied they had been through enough and earned redemption.

“The Goddess is cruel and heartless, you know that.” Ashkenaz put his arm around his friend's shoulders. “Let's get some water. You sound like you need some of the good stuff.” They wandered away from the brick building towards a stone tavern on the far side of the settlement to get a drink.

 

 

Ignis traced a gnarled clawtip over the walls of the ruins he was in. At one time it had been a temple to the four Goddesses of Nova Crystalis; the images of the women were everywhere, each bestowing a different gift to the people. He often stared at the wall carvings of the Goddesses walking among them; men and women living together, marrying and having children. It seemed a blessed life. What had they done to ruin it? Was it even them at all? He would rather live in the desert and be warm, than struggle in the icy landscape beyond the jungle. Maybe it was them who were cursed and the men were the ones who were fortunate. Ignis snorted; if that were true then why did all the women die? He had seen families on the other side with his own eyes; the men there seemed to have no issue keeping them alive.

Trailing his finger over the lettering of the curse, the only thing added to the temple after the Fracture, Ignis breathed deeply and tried to temper his rising desire for a woman; thinking of those beyond the jungle had been a bad idea.

“Hajan ghuf y fusyh'c lusvund; taydr mejac fedreh oui,” he recited. _Never know a woman's comfort; death lives within you._  Ignis couldn't begin to understand why this was their curse. He had spent the best part of ninety years trying to. The Fayth told them Macalania cursed them because men were monsters. He couldn't argue with it when he compared the pale beauty of the icy people with the hirsute and beast-like deformities of his own kind. However, men lived among the women, so why were they not cursed? The writings in the temples told him neither people existed before the Fracture, and then there was their physical compatibility. They were one kind, perhaps both cursed. If the Novans could only find one who could endure the flames and give birth to a daughter. He was almost certain this was the way to break the curse. If they could find the one who could give them comfort, it would all be different.

 

 

“Vasuman has been named torch. His light will guide the way, his flame will burn brightest and strongest. All others will flock to him as moths!” Ignis's voice carried across the gathered warriors. The clan of twenty-strong, armoured Novans roared and banged their swords against their shields, the metals clanging together dully.

Vasuman, a large, mostly straight-backed man with a full beard and long black hair tied up in a series of knots, took two steps forward at the front of the crowd. Everyone knew him; he was the man who regularly crossed the jungle alone and brought back women for the rest. He was a legend still living and had never been unsuccessful.

“We will return laden down with Glory!” he bellowed, raising his sword high and receiving cheers from behind. He flicked his wrist and the men turned as one towards the jungle. “Mog!” Vasuman roared and the little Moogle sped towards him, wonky bobble glowing brightly.

“Kupo?”

“Find us Glory!”

The Moogle's little nose wrinkled, but it did as Vasuman ordered, flying up high and over all the men towards the jungle, bobble leaving a pink trail for them to follow.

“To Glory!” Vasuman yelled, shoving aside the others until they made a path for him to reach the front of the group again. “We'll bring back a half-dozen!”

Following the Moogle through the dense jungle, the men knew it was at least one moon's cycle before they would reach the other side. Those that went had the most self-restraint not to fall upon a prize once they had it; their lust was tempered somewhat by the white seeds they ate while travelling, but they were scarce near their home. There were plenty growing near the ice dwellers camp, but the bushes were often bare, leading the Sages to believe the witch Goddess was further tormenting them. The Novans hoarded all that they had and only gave them out in the most dire circumstances, but even then they were only delaying the inevitable, as proven with the boy, Firion.

 

 

“Hold, men. I go on here alone,” Vasuman said, ignoring the sighs of relief from the other Novans. He had pushed them hard, having less supplies of seeds than usual. Even he could feel the rising fire in his blood, the need starting to overwhelm his senses. “Fan out and look for the cohosh,” he ordered, naming the berries his people picked to dull the curse.

He left them then and made for the edge of the jungle, trusting the Moogle to guide him to the spot he needed to be. “Well, Hag, what have you for me?” he demanded, stepping out from behind the foliage to greet the elder Fayth.

Frejari's lip curled at the insult. “There are two –”

“Not enough!” Vasuman roared.

“Be quiet!” Frejari hissed. “Do you want to alert them?” She looked over her shoulder, although she couldn't see the escorts she'd brought with her. The two women and one man were hand-picked by her after having heard they were both fighting over the man; it was not their way! “Allow me to finish,” she said in a calmer tone. “There are two with me, along with a man. The rest of the tribe is four days march towards the setting sun. They are small, but have an excess of women.” It was no wonder they had been fighting amongst themselves for the men of another tribe. That one had moved on, but those three had made the journey to the Crux to gain the wisdom of the Fayth. It was obvious to Frejari that they were on the path to corruption and their sickness needed to be cleansed before it infected both tribes.

Vasuman grinned, showing off pointed teeth. “You are an evil witch,” he said. “Where are your escorts?”

Frejari inclined her head to the left. “Through there. I told them I needed time to myself to commune with the Goddesses.”

He snorted. “Do you even hear them anymore?”

“Macalania is always with me,” Frejari replied, a glint in her eye. “Macalania is always with me,” she repeated more quietly, one withered hand going to a pouch tied about her waist and withdrawing a flat, green, disc-shaped herb which she held up triumphantly.

In response, Vasuman pulled a pouch of his own and dropped them at Frejari's feet, allowing identical seeds to spill out. The Fayth gasped and dropped to her knees, scrabbling to pick them up. “Take your payment, Hag, and get out of my sight, before I change my mind about having allowed you to live.”

Frejari gathered up the seeds and eyed him with hatred. “Empty words, Ifrit. Without me you would not have any women.” She got to her feet, bones creaking with age. “I will expect you here again when?”

“I will send Mog,” Vasuman replied through gritted teeth. He hated being called an Ifrit as much as the Fayth hated being called Hag, but they currently needed one another, so he would endure it for the ease of claiming Glory for his people.

 

 

“They're back!” The cheers reached Ashkenaz inside his forge and he set down his work to go see what the warriors had brought back.

“Two is hardly six,” he commented to Rowtag, as he spied the ragged-looking women being brought along wearing chains. He shook his head and sighed, then turned back to the forge.

“Are you not wanting?” his friend asked, putting a hand on his arm to stop him.

Ashkenaz shook his head again. Long ago he had taken measures so that he wouldn't be like the rest of his kind. The truth was, they made him feel sick. He would rather be unmanned than force himself on an unwilling victim.

The Novan Sage was first in line, as always, trotting out the well-worn phrase about finding a strong woman to endure the curse and birth a daughter. The two ice-dwellers spat foul words and struggled; the sound of the chains clinking together reaching Ashkenaz's pointed ears. He wouldn't stay and watch his people further their own destruction. If it was the way, as Ignis said, why did it feel so wrong to him? If it was the way why did the women always die? He supposed it wouldn't matter in the end; their numbers grew less every year and soon there would be none of their kind remaining to plague those on the other side of the jungle. “Perhaps that is the way to break the curse,” he muttered to himself, closing the door to the forge and wishing he could shut out the sound of feminine screams so easily. “We should be wiped clean from this world and only then will the Goddesses forgive us."

 


	6. Chapter 6

It was the final evening before the gathering tribes would depart for the north; one last night of celebration and song.

The area swept for dancing and entertainment had been made even larger to make room for them all, and there were so many ice drums and string instruments set up that people had to turn sideways to slip past them. The players had stripped down, the men going bare chested and the women in bralet tops, anticipating working up a sweat. Bone jewellery rattled softly, it would add a hollow note to the music and make the drum beat all the more furious. Necklaces, bracelets, anklets and belts were admired and fussed with while everyone waited for the Chief of the Crux tribe, Ela, to arrive so they could begin.

The tall, broad-shouldered man finally appeared, flanked by the collection of Fayth, who wouldn't remain beyond the singing of the Hymn. Banging his staff three times to call for silence, Ela gestured for Frejari to lead them. The voices of the people singing the Vespersong rose up loud and clear, filled with energy and anticipation. The final notes echoed, acting as escort to the Fayth as they returned to their hut, set back at the furthest point from the merrymaking.

“Tribes!” Ela boomed, banging his staff once more. A man of few words he set things off with the simple command of, “Rejoice!”

The drums were struck, the players quickly falling into a merging tempo, and accompanied by the haunting sound of the stringed instruments. Men and women whooped and cheered, stomping their feet and clapping their hands. Small groups came together, dancing around each other and weaving patterns with their bodies, striking decorative bone sticks together. Those with talent made up songs on the spot, repeating the phrases so others could join in.

Caleen danced with Cid, spinning around and letting the bone belt she wore flare out and clap together. Her eyes were bright and cheerful, her smile was broad and carefree as she and her husband drank in the simple pleasure of the gathering. They were soon joined by others of different tribes and the couple moved back to allow their dance to be shared. Sticks were struck as the men and women weaved around each other, laughing and singing.

The whytkins were also present at the gathering and were flitting about between the groups, copying steps or singing pieces of songs. Others were sat at the feet of the musicians watching them play and clapping along to the beat, only moving out of the way when there was a signal the player needed to swap with someone. The music was continuous and came to an end gradually as tribes were called to set off.

By the time the sun rose the following morning the Crux camp was empty, save for their own tribe.

 

 

“Da, I'm bored.” Six year old Shiva fidgeted in the saddle. She was riding with her father, though at that moment the pair were stationary at the side of the road, watching the rest of the tribe pass slowly by. Once the last Stirian was in front of them, Cid would nudge the large, yellow bird forward to overtake, having confirmed with his own eyes all his people were with them. This task would be done several times before they stopped to make camp.

“After last night, I expect you would be,” he chuckled. “You should have gone in the wagon with the other young ones.” He put his hand on his daughter's shoulder to still her squirming; it was unsettling the chocobo. She was obviously still too young to ride for hours at a time with no complaint, but she'd learn eventually.

“I'm sorry, da,” Shiva said quietly. “I can go with them.” She knew how important her father's role was in the tribe, but she really loved spending time with him.

Cid sighed, brow furrowing. “Why don't I teach you the hunting game?” That would surely take her mind off how uncomfortable she was until he could catch up to the wagon where the other whytkins were; it was probably too much for him to expect her to be up most of the night and then ride all day without growing tired.

“Oac, bmayca!” She clapped her hands and tried to turn around to give her father a hug.

“Easy, little one. You'll fall.” Cid steadied her, even as he organized his thoughts to how the game should be played.

“Picture a board with six sided tiles, five by five large,” he began, thinking this would be both challenging enough to play and simple enough to visualise. “Your weakest pieces always sit to the left. In your corner are three hunters: a scout, who may move two paces in any direction; the second, a spear-man, who may move once forward and once to flank; the third is the Chief and he may move wherever he wishes, one pace at a time.” He paused and peered over the little girl's shoulder to see her brow furrowed in concentration.

“I have it,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Your hunters have found a grat, who will hover one pace forwards and one to the side, a mesmir, who will charge three paces, and a woolly gator, who will move one pace in any direction.”

Shiva nodded. She had grown still as a statue, oblivious to everything around her.

“To succeed you must corral the grat and mesmir on two sides and the gator on three.” If the conditions for victory were tough, his daughter didn't say. “If your Chief is caught, you lose. The hunters move first.”

Shiva's nose wrinkled as she screwed up her face. “My scout moves two forward.”

Cid easily pictured the board he had described and the move as well. “Are you sure?” he smiled.

“Umm, no?” She redrew the board in her mind and made a noise as she spotted her mistake. “The mesmir will get me! I move my scout up two!”

With a nod of approval, Cid responded. “My mesmir has taken the place of your scout and stares angrily at your Chief.”

“I want to move my scout back,” Shiva started, “but I can't make him move two paces.”

“That is the difficulty of the game, my little moogle.”

They continued on in this way for some time. Shiva eventually managed to maneuver her scout and spearman into position to take the mesmir off the board, but she had left her chief exposed and neglected to pay attention to where Cid was placing his grat.

“Your Chief has died on the hunt,” he said at last, pulling a sad face. “The other hunters cannot continue.”

The little girl made a noise of frustration. “I want to play again!”

Cid's laugh was loud and full-bodied, and drew curious glances from the last of his tribesmen as they passed. “Perhaps later. We have to get to the head of the convoy. Hold on.” He urged the chocobo forward with his knees and the bird broke out into a loping trot, easily passing everyone. Scraps of conversation reached his ears, as well as the odd shout of pairs calling moves in the more complicated version of the game he was teaching Shiva.

“Can I learn that one?” she asked and he half chuckled, half groaned.

“If you can beat me in our other game, yes.”

“I will!” the little girl promised, nodding firmly. “I'm going to beat you so bad you'll have to sit in the snow for a week to numb the pain of losing to me!”

Cid's laughter was carried by the wind to the ears of his people as he and his daughter rode past.

 

 

Ela yawned and scratched his stubbled chin as he casually gave orders to his people to tidy the area where the visiting tribes had been. It was a simple matter of breaking down ice and waiting for the snow to cover up the arena space, but Frejari and her Fayth could be heard loudly muttering about how rude it was of the other tribes to expect the Crux to do this.

“Don't see you doing your share,” Ela said in a lazy tone, smiling at the elderly woman. She had been Fayth when he had taken over from the previous leader, having challenged her for the position and won, but somehow all his dreams and plans for the tribe ended up dissolving into nothing. Some days it was all he could do to check his people were alright; everything ended up being left in the hands of Frejari and the Fayth.

“The Fayth are always working,” she replied snottily. “I could not say the same for you.”

“I'm Chief,” Ela snapped, blinking to wake himself up. “I take my duties seriously.”

A Fayth apprentice needed Frejari's attention at the moment, and the elderly woman was taken aside, leaving the Chief to finish giving people things to do and then heading to his hut. His plan had been to think about the coming season and which of his people needed to be pushed to better roles, which warriors could be sent on trips with the Fayth to the jungles to gather their mysterious herbs and other plant life, but as he settled back into his furs he found his eyes closing. He breathed the smoky scent of the peat, tinged with an aromatic undertone, and in minutes he was asleep.

 

 

Frejari entered the Fayth hut, which was the largest of the Crux and able to fit all of them. She ordered the apprentice out, her not being advanced enough yet to see anything within its walls. “What is the matter, Lumia?” She addressed the woman who had summoned her.

“I had a vision,” she replied, her voice soft and kindly. “Eos spoke to me.”

Frejari didn't put much faith in the mutterings of Eos, her being the Goddess most eager for change; a dangerous concept for the people. “What did she say?”

Lumia's eyes opened and they settled on Frejari with a frigid rage. “You have been sacrificing women to the Ifrit!”

The elderly woman clutched her breast, both offended and shocked at the accusation. “I do the will of the Goddess! I would never –”

“Eos sees everything!” Lumia rose to her feet, dark hair clouding about her face. “She is the light of this world and you cannot hide from her! She _saw_  you! Many times she has seen you take women into the jungle as escort and return without them! Your list of excuses is long, Frejari!” She recited several that the elder woman recognised as having come from her lips. “Why?” Lumia pleaded, sapphire eyes filling with tears. “Do the people not suffer enough? You won't allow us to teach them to read, or pass on the wisdom of the Goddesses –”

“You wouldn't understand,” Frejari replied coldly. “I am doing the work of Macalania.”

Lumia's eyes widened and tears spilled onto her cheeks. “Macalania? No Fayth has heard her voice in generations.” Could it be true? Had Frejari been blessed by the reclusive Goddess?

The elder woman delved into a pocket and produced a pouch of flat, round seeds. “These enhance the gifts of the Fayth,” she said, holding one out for Lumia to see. “They allow us to reach even the Hidden One and hear her will. The other Goddesses seek our favor, but Macalania is the true voice, for we must search for her; it is her will that we must do.”

Lumia eyed the seed; she had taken many different kinds in her years as Fayth, but she didn't recognise this one. “Where did you get it?”

“Macalania came to me when I ate it the first time, after I was taken by the Ifrit. I heard her words and knew that I was chosen to do her will.”

The younger woman knew the story of what happened to Frejari at the hands of the Ifrit, and how she managed to escape, but she had no idea Macalania had spoken to her while she was in the burning lands. “You found those seeds on the other side?”

“They only grow there,” Frejari confided. “Macalania is willing to speak to them; why else would the way be there?”

Lumia frowned at the heavy pouch tied to Frejari's waist. “Where did you get more?”

The elderly woman stepped forward and pressed the seed into Lumia's hand. “I have been in need of another to help me do Macalania's will. Won't you help me, sister?”

It had always been Lumia's secret wish to hear Macalania, but not at the cost of the people. Frejari was sending women to the Ifrit, and being given seeds in return so that she could hear the Goddess. The very thought felt foul to her. She opened her mouth to accuse the elder Fayth of corruption and found a seed being shoved into her mouth and her jaws pushed closed again.

“Once you hear the voice of Macalania you will understand,” Frejari grunted, holding onto Lumia until she felt the other woman choke down the seed. 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

The tribe made good time and soon set up camp; the ice weavers assisting in building the huts. A group of scouts returned with news that a herd of bulette were nearby, having wandered way from the marshlands and gotten lost in the snow. There was a buzz of excitement as the warriors gathered near the Chief to hear which of them would be chosen to take on the squat, armoured beasts. It took a keen eye to strike the spot between the spiked plates on the creature's backs and attack the flesh beneath.

“Brael will lead this hunt,” Cid said, deciding quickly. He nodded at the senior warrior, who was getting on in years now, but was an excellent leader. He would direct the younger warriors strength and the tribe would eat well tonight because of it. Though heavily armoured, bulette were one of the least dangerous beasts the tribe hunted, and perfect as a proving ground for those rising above the level of scout.

“I'll knock some soft edges off them for you, Chief,” Brael laughed, causing more than a couple of young warriors to grimace at what was coming. The rest of the hunters were chosen just as rapidly from those with the right skills: two ice weavers, an axe and two spear for a total of six. The mixed gender group were waved off as they followed the tracker who would position herself away from the danger and wait to lead them back to the tribe when they were done.

 

The day passed pleasantly enough; chores were completed and the sound of whytkins could be heard at various intervals as they practised fighting with flimsy hollow-bone swords and other weapons.

“Ow, that hurt!” Shiva dropped the sword she had in her hand and cradled her fingers.

“You get hurt hunting,” Quistis replied, shrugging. “You need to not feel the pain because if you drop your weapon you will die.”

The eight-year-old grimaced back. “I know that.” She flexed her fingers slowly and crouched down to plunge them into the snow.

“That's how you stop it hurting,” the older girl said, proud. “You have to use what is around you to your advantage; don't ever forget that.”

“I won't,” Shiva replied, removing her numb hand from the snow and taking a look at it. Her pale skin was already darkening with a bruise, but otherwise she was fine. “I can still use my other hand,” she said, picking up the sword in her left and smiling.

“You are going to be very good for the tribe when you are older,” Quistis predicted, taking up a stance with her own, bone-blade. Before either girl could move there came a shout. “Who is that?” Quistis squinted, her vision not being good enough to see long distances.

“It's the tracker who went with the hunters,” Shiva replied, waving. She soon stopped when she realised something was wrong. “Quistis, go find vydran,” she said, sticking her sword into her waistband and taking off at a run towards the tracker. The other girl had no choice but to do as Shiva said and quickly ran off to locate the Chief.

Shiva reached the tracker just as he collapsed to his knees, blue blood seeping into the snow. “What happened?” she gasped. The whole of his back had been ripped to pieces; the furs he wore hanging in shreds across his chest and shoulders.

“Krysta,” he gasped, wincing in pain. “They're all dead.”

Shiva's hand went to her mouth and her eyes widened; krystas were found near grave sites where the ice weavers hadn't done a proper job entombing the dead. The half-rotted, frozen corpses grew angry and came back to life to take the skin from those who were alive and whole.

The tracker slumped face down in the snow.

“Stay awake!” she yelled at him, going to her knees and shaking his shoulder. “You can't die!”

Warriors arrived with the Chief and lifted the man between them, carrying him to a hut where Temia was waiting with their meagre supply of curatives. She didn't know the secrets of the Fayth yet, but she was all they had, and had been successful in the past in saving more than one injured person.

“Da,” Shiva whispered, following behind her father and the men. “He said a krysta did it.”

Cid paused briefly, then carried on. “We'll have to wait before we collect the others then.”

“Wait?” Shiva was surprised. “But they might still be alive!”

The group carrying the injured tracker glanced back for a moment and the little girl blushed at the pitying looks they gave her. She had heard enough late-night, scary stories from her father that she knew what a krysta could do and that the other hunters were most likely dead, but they still shouldn't give up hope of finding someone alive. Looking over her shoulder, Shiva saw the trail of blood left by the tracker; she could follow it back to where the other warriors were. She slipped away before anyone could notice or ask her what she thought she might be able to do once she reached the warriors. She so badly wanted to help them and that was the only thought in her mind as she ran.

Fortunately for her there was no further snowfall so the trail didn't end up being covered. It didn't take long for the girl to find where the tracker had been attacked; a mess of fur, blood and skin fragments marked the spot. She looked around, knowing he wouldn't have placed himself too far from the hunters, so he could see when it was time to lead them back to the tribe. “Oh,” she breathed, having found them only because of the bulette carcass nearby. “Blessings on you all,” she said, swallowing back the lump in her throat. There was nothing left but blood and gore; not a single person was left intact. The little girl squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to retch as the smell reached her nose. The bulette had been left, it not being human in appearance, so the warriors last hunt would benefit the tribe still. It was a cruel fate for them, however, and there would be no way of performing adequate burial rites either. Shiva only hoped their spirits could find some sort of peace and not seek out other poorly entombed Frigidians to turn into krystas as well. Shiva's eyes flew open; the krysta! She looked around, but trying to spot a white skinned monster among all the other layers of white was impossible! A chill went down her spine and she pulled up the collar of her furred coat and turned, sucking in a breath when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Heart pounding in her ears she broke into a run and heard an inhuman screech behind her.

The monster was gaining on her, she could sense it, but the camp was growing closer with every step. Her legs were aching from having run for so long and she stumbled and cried out, “Ma!” As the krysta came within feet of Shiva, she drew her practice sword and threw it at it. “Get back,” she threatened, scrambling to her feet and taking off again. The monster still followed, its pace neither fast nor slow, but relentless. Shiva knew she should have listened to her father and stayed put; she'd brought the thing home with her! “Ma!” Shiva yelled as she neared the village and spotted Caleen training with some of the other warriors. “Krysta!”

The warriors rushed to intercept the little girl, swinging her round and tossing her towards a snow bank as weapons were drawn on the approaching creature.

“Behind me!” Caleen ordered her people, breathing deeply and gesturing with her hands. A barricade of ice spikes shot up from beneath the snow and stretched along the edge of the camp. Those behind her tossed spears of both bone and ice, several striking the shambling thing, but not enough damage was done to stop it.

“Spike it,” the man beside Caleen said.

Raising her arm up, Caleen drew together a large formation of ice into a thick spike, as large as she was tall. It fell into the arms of the warriors waiting for it and they charged forward, using it as a battering ram to shatter the barricade and impale the krysta. They drove the spike down into the snow and quickly decapitated the flailing beast. “Shiva!” Caleen turned to look for her daughter the moment the danger had passed, and found her clambering out of the snow and shaking flakes from her hair and clothes. “What did you do?” she demanded to know.

“I'm sorry, ma. I thought they might still be alive.” Shiva's bottom lip wobbled, but she didn't cry.

Caleen's face softened slightly. “Now you know better,” she said.

 

As the sun peeked over the horizon, turning the bleak landscape into a canvas of glittering crystals, the Stiria tribe were just beginning to set off, having spent the last three days preparing the funeral rites for the hunters and tracker killed by the krysta. As Chief, it was Cid's honor to lead the ceremony, speaking briefly of those who gave their lives and that their names would always be remembered by those left behind. The ice weavers spent the time meditating and preparing themselves to properly entomb the poor tracker, the only one to return whole, but who had still succumbed to his wounds.

It was with solemn and leaden treads the tribe left the newly erected grave site and headed for their next camp ground; Cid's mind was already on how he would explain what happened to the Fayth when their tribe eventually found their way to the Crux. Frejari was always very eager to know exactly what happened to any of the tribe who died, though she often seemed disappointed at the end of the telling.

Macalania found herself stuck with Shiva; the little girl having run off days before and encountered a krysta meant that her mother was being extra vigilant with her safety. The fourteen-year old scout wouldn't mind so much if Shiva would just stop talking! She asked questions about everything she saw, even if she knew the answers.

“Why do we need scouts? What is the best part of being a scout? When do they let you train with weapons? When will they let _me_ train with weapons? How do you know when to look out for things? Who else scouts with you when you go? Will you go on hunts too? What –”

“Shiva, ahuikr!” the other girl snapped. “You are hurting my ears.”

“Sorry,” came the muttered reply. “I want to train properly, not with the baby weapons.” She knocked her knuckles against the hollow-bone, sword attached to her waist.

“Don't dismiss it; I heard it saved your life,” Macalania replied. “You'll get your chance when you're older. You need to be more patient, like the glacier.” She pointed to the slow moving sheet of ice half-way up a mountain in the distance. “It wants to be where it ends, but can only go so fast.”

Shiva frowned seriously and nodded. “I know.” She opened her mouth to say more, but Macalania put her fingers over her lips.

“That is enough. You need to learn when to stop talking, too.”

The Chief's daughter narrowed her blue eyes at her sister and licked the hand covering her mouth.

Macalania yanked her hand away and bared her teeth. “Oilg!” The two girls walked in silence for about a mile, when Macalania nudged the person next to her and said she needed to make a stop.

The adult nodded and said, “Don't wander too far from the path,” and then went back to the match he'd been in the middle of.

“Can I go, too?” Shiva piped up.

The adult waved his hand, already trying to think of his next move, and Macalania was already trotting off.

The eight-year-old took this as a sign she could go with, so hurried after her. Shiva didn't need to relieve herself, but she did want to have a look at something besides the path and other people's boot prints in the slush.

“Go stand guard for me!” Macalania hissed when she saw Shiva chasing after her. “I can't watch my back and pee.”

Happy with something to do, Shiva did as her sister said and skipped to a spot behind the scout and crouched down to draw in the snow with her finger. She pressed down, giggling softly as the powder crunched under her digit. She repeated the action several times, then tried to join the dots to make a picture, shuffling sideways so she wouldn't have to keep getting up and squatting down again. It was only as she heard Macalania yelling for her that Shiva realised she had managed to shuffle her way around an outcropping of rocks and was now hidden from the rest of the tribe along the path.

A short burst of panic forced her to jackknife to standing and she turned to run back to her people, only to catch her toe on something buried under the snow and trip. Shiva landed heavily on her knees and bit her lip from the pain. There was a further series of small crunching noises underneath her knees as she went to get back up and the snow compacted. With her next footstep Shiva suddenly dropped, her foot going too deep and finding nothing underneath to support it. Eyes like saucers, she screamed, sticking out her arms and legs to slow her fall as she plummeted, feeling them scrape against rough walls. She was sure her heart was trying to vomit out of her mouth, so high in her throat it was almost choking her. It wasn't a long drop, but it felt that way to the girl as she hit the ground and collapsed in a heap. Her whole body was shaking with relief and terror at the feeling of not knowing what was below or around her. It was dark and the only light came from directly above, illuminating the first three feet of the walls and showing they were some kind of stone and had been crafted in a pattern so they sat on top of each other. The hole she fell into was perfectly circular and she could feel ice beneath her hands; frozen water. She was lucky not to have gone through it. Shiva could swim, having been taught by age three while in the south, but swimming in icy water, fully clothed, was not something she was confident about doing.

“Da!” Shiva screamed for her father, not understanding what she'd fallen into, but knowing she wanted to get back out. Her tribe were leaving! They might go without her and she'd be stuck in this funny hole until she shrivelled up and died. “Ma!” She tried so hard not to cry; she wouldn't be able to call for help if she was sobbing like a baby. “Da! Ma! Macalania! Ramb sa!” She shouted the same sentence over and over, getting more upset each time she got no answer, until finally, what felt like eternity later, though was only a few minutes at most, a shadowy head appeared at the entrance to the hole. “I want my ma!” Shiva shrieked at Macalania, who looked over her shoulder and yelled for help.

It felt like it took forever for the little girl to be pulled up from the hole and handed into her mother's open arms. Shiva was trembling all over, her lips downturned and eyes filling with tears as she flung her arms around Caleen and clung onto her for dear life, carrying her back to the convoy. First she'd got in trouble with the krysta and now by falling down a hole; Shiva felt like she was the unluckiest person in Frigidia, as she was set up in front of Cid on his chocobo to make sure she stayed out of trouble. “Go and bring me one of those stones from that hole,” Cid said over Shiva's head to a couple of warriors. This wasn't the first time one of his people had stumbled on something strange and foreign while out in the wilderness. He would examine them and bring it up at the Chiefs meeting when the Stiria returned south for the winter. He would explain to the Fayth that their people needed better ways to mark out paths; not even the finest tracker would be able to see a hole beneath a layer of snow. It was lucky it wasn't very deep and that Shiva had gone with Macalania. If she'd been alone like last time they might not have noticed her until they reached their next camp.

 

Everything was giving her nightmares. Running through the snow with the sense she was being chased by the krysta, and it wanted to rip her skin off, then suddenly finding herself falling down a dark hole. Every night the same horror filled scene that made her wake up screaming for her parents. She was going to be a brave warrior, she couldn't be scared anything. “You will learn to conquer it,” her mother said soothingly, cuddling her after another nightmare. “Fear is a weakness, a hidden enemy. It freezes the body and mind when we need it to be swift. You must take your fear and strike it dead.” Shiva tried to be like how her mother said. Obviously she couldn't go up against another krysta, but the next hole she found she jumped into it and nearly broke her ankle. She wasn't scared while she was in the hole, or when she realized she'd hurt herself, or when she climbed out and got told off by one of her brothers for being stupid. Fear was a strange thing, she decided, frowning heavily She only stopped when someone threw a snowball at her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter contains mention of still birth.

Shiva tiptoed towards her target, a ball of snow in her hands and a big smile on her face. Just as she was about to mash it into her aunt's hair, Temia said, “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”  
“How did you know?” Shiva dropped the snowball and went to sit beside her aunt on the oiled cloth and watch the sunrise.  
“Your footsteps are too even.”  
Nine-year old Shiva frowned. “I watch where I'm going.”  
“It shows,” Temia replied, tucking something into her sleeve. “Plan your path, but don't let anyone else see you have.”  
The little girl drew her lower lip into her mouth and sucked on it thoughtfully. “How do I do that?” she said at last.  
“Practice,” Temia laughed, hugging Shiva to her. “Now, be quiet. Eos is bringing down the stars.” She pointed to where the sun was coming up and the light touched the snowy landscape, making the frost glitter. “Etro will gather their fading light, along with the souls of those lost, and place them back up into the night.”  
Shiva hummed thoughtfully. “If the ancestors are the stars, why does Eos bring them back?”  
“So that we may always feel their light and know they are part of our world,” Temia smiled. “Don't ever forget, Shiva, that the body may die, but the soul is eternal.”  
“I won't,” she replied, shaking her head. “Will ma go to the Fayth soon?” she said, changing the subject. After many years of wanting, Caleen was finally with child again. Shiva was excited to meet the new baby, but she was worried about her mother as well; there had been many concerns throughout the pregnancy, with scattered bleeding and pain. Caleen's years as a warrior and many injuries were also not helping. There had been points where the expectant parents thought they had lost the babe, but Temia had reassured them it was still alive and growing strong.  
“She still has a few weeks yet, but with the pace she travels it may be better if they go now,” Temia answered. Her brow furrowed. “I fear she is not strong enough for this.”  
Shiva scowled. “My ma is the strongest warrior in the whole tribe!”  
“Shh,” Temia put her finger to her lips. “She is strong, but birthing takes a depth of strength that is too much for many a warrior.”  
Shiva swallowed. “Will she die?”  
“I will be going with her and I promise you,” she hugged Shiva tightly, “that your mother will be safe. She is not yet for the Eternal Frost.”  
The little girl wiped her damp eyes and nodded firmly. “What do you think the Fayth will call the baby?”  
There was a snort from behind them and they both turned to see Caleen standing there, one hand on her back easing the ache. “They will not be naming my babe,” she said.   
“Ma!” Shiva jumped up and gave her mother a careful hug, rubbing her belly and saying, “Good morning, little one,” to the baby within.  
Caleen shared smiling looks with Temia. “Come along, both of you. Your hands are needed to share the workload.”

 

The tribe hadn't got halfway to where they wanted to be to set up camp. It couldn't be avoided. Caleen had stopped to relieve herself and then screamed with panic at the blood dripping down her thighs. The ice weavers had quickly erected a hut and set everything up as Cid and Temia ordered in harsh, panicked voices.  
The canvas tent was prepared for the rest of the people to take shelter in and there was a heavy silence among them all. Even the whytkins were quiet as they huddled together with those minding them. Though the babe was Cid and Caleen's, it had been a joyous and anticipated event for everyone, and the thought of something being wrong drew worried frowns across many brows.

Inside the hut, peat had been lit and the weak plume of smoke wafted up out of the hole in the roof. The room was warm, the bed set up with furs, and water was waiting to wash mother and babe. Caleen, however, was on her knees, too weak to stand.  
“You need to be up,” Temia said, forcing her voice to sound calm. “The babe will come easier and you will struggle less.”  
“I can't,” Caleen sobbed, angry at herself. It felt like her insides were trying to fall out; the pressure was so great, far more than when she'd been in labour with Shiva.   
Both Cid and Temia took her by the arm and hauled her up. “We need others,” he said to Temia, his voice trembling from the effort of hiding his fear.  
“No,” Caleen gasped as pain squeezed her belly tightly. “I won't let them see me like this!”  
“Someone needs to be ready to catch the babe, Caleen,” Temia explained patiently. “Let us call another for its sake.”  
Grunting through the pain, she nodded jerkily.  
As Temia opened her mouth to call for someone, there was a sudden shifting from the other woman.  
“Oh, Goddess,” Caleen groaned, feeling like her insides were being turned out. “It's coming now!”  
Temia let go of her and dropped to her knees just in time to catch the bloody mess that slipped from her sister. The baby was slick and she almost lost her hold on it, clutching it close as more blood and mess followed. “Caleen, that is not right!” Temia's eyes were wide at the splatter on the floor, and the fluids that still flowed down her pale limbs. She glanced at the baby, but it was silent. “Cid! Get Caleen to the bed. She must lie down. I will see to the babe.”  
Cid's eyes were wide with horror; this was nothing like his wife's last birthing, but he mustered his nerve and did as his sister said.  
Temia laid the baby down on some blankets and began wiping the blood off. She cleared his mouth with her fingers and gently pressed his chest to try and encourage him to breathe. She rubbed him to warm his cold skin, but with every passing moment she knew time was running out to save Caleen. She had to choose: try to revive the child or keep the mother alive?  
“Cid! I need you!” Temia, gave quick directions to her brother and then grabbed the tools she needed to work on Caleen. She had no idea what she was doing, other than having done similar to chocobos when they ruptured laying eggs. A person was very different, but Caleen's screams quickly ended when she passed out from the pain. Temia was covered in blood and had to keep stopping to wipe her hands. Worse, her eyes kept filling with tears as she worked. “Please, don't die,” she kept whispering. She refused to look over her shoulder to her brother and see how the baby fared, but the silence in the hut was screamed the truth at them.

 

“My whytkin, come here,” Caleen said, opening her arms out to Shiva, who had come to see her. She had been carried back inside after the ceremony to entomb the baby, and laid on her bed of furs to rest. The pain in her chest made her want to die and join the little boy, who they had named Zidane. Only the thought of Shiva being left motherless kept her focused and able to hand the bundle over to Cid, so that a weaver could cover him with ice and preserve him forever. It had been a short ceremony, made all the more poignant when Shiva had placed her stuffed moogle beside the little boy, “So he won't be lonely,” she said.  
Shiva ran to her mother's side and settled into her arms. “I'm sorry you hurt, ma,” she said, hugging her gently, mindful of the thick stitches holding the woman together.  
“I am alive,” Caleen replied, her voice sad. “That is a blessing.” She sighed heavily. “I am still strong.”  
“Not strong enough for that,” Temia said, hearing the unspoken thought and she came into the room to check on Caleen. “You cannot.”  
Caleen scowled and gestured for Shiva to leave. “I would not think of it now, but in time –”  
“No, Caleen, you cannot,” Temia repeated, putting emphasis on the last word. “I...had to take it. I'm sorry!” She rushed to the bedside and took the other woman's cold hands. “You would have died! I promised! I promised Shiva you would live!”  
Caleen felt cold. More so than she ever had in her life. “You took it?” she said slowly, not daring to believe her ears. “That is not possible. How?”  
The younger woman winced and shut her eyes. “I should have told you both,” she said, opening her eyes again when she felt Caleen snatch her hands away. “Please, I thought it was for the best that you not know. You, especially, would have become so angry.”  
“What would I become angry at, Temia?” Caleen's voice was frigid.  
“The Fayth. At the last gathering I spoke with one of the apprentices and told him of my intent to join them. He said I had best learn to read then.”  
“Read?” Caleen sounded the word out. “What is that?”  
“The symbols,” she said, gesturing to Caleen's left arm, where a pattern of markings ran down the outside from shoulder to wrist. It was the symbol of her marriage to Cid, who had a matching one on his left arm. They were tattooed by the Fayth after the blessing of the marriage rites, but before the sacred potion was drunk to make the men strong and virile. “They are names. Our people's names.” She touched the two in the centre, the largest. “These are your parents' names.” Her face crumpled then. “The Fayth have been keeping this from us. They have knowledge in their hut. They call them 'books' and within them is so much of who we were as a people.” Temia sat back and withdrew from her coat a small, bone cylinder. She opened and unrolled it to show Caleen a drawing of an animal's body being sliced open along its side. The next drawing showed its young being pulled out. “I took this from them and adapted it to help me with the chocobos, do you remember?”  
Caleen nodded. She had never seen anyone do what her sister had done to help their herd when they struggled with passing eggs. The animals had been torn and Temia had repaired them, saving several of the same line. The eggs when they hatched had been remarkable as well; none were the bright yellow the people were used to seeing. There was blue and green, one was black as the night sky and another was more golden. What was more strange was both of these birds could fly; unheard of among chocobos.   
Temia unrolled the scroll further and stopped at an image that turned Caleen's stomach.   
“You used this to take Macalania's gift from me?” she said at last.  
“Something was wrong inside,” Temia explained in a tearful voice. “It came out with the babe. You would have died with him if I had not. Would you leave Shiva without her mother?”  
Caleen lay back against the furs and shut her eyes. “No,” she said at last. She looked at Temia. “How long have you know about the Fayth?”  
The younger woman looked scared. “I'm sorry,” she said again. “When I found out I didn't know what to do. I should have told you and Cid, but the apprentice who told me about the knowledge disappeared while collecting herbs. There are whispers that it has been happening more often these last few years. Escorts and Fayth going into the jungle and not returning. Frejari's inner circle mutters about Macalania more and more; the other Goddesses never speak to them.”  
“They are festering,” Cid said, catching this as he came into the room. “Shiva said you were angry with Temia. She was worried about you,” he directed at his wife, sitting beside her and cupping her cheek with one hand. “Are you well?”  
“I am alive,” Caleen sighed, “but I am far from well.”  
“Your strength will recover,” Temia offered. “The rest...” she shrugged.  
“I still have more to offer my tribe,” the Chief's wife said in a firm voice. “The pain will fade in time.” She sounded so sure of the lie she almost convinced herself. “The Fayth are poison,” she said to Cid. “They have skills to help us and do not use them.” Her thoughts lingered on the babe for a moment, then turned to the child who was alive and needed her; she would keep her safe at any cost. “We cannot let them continue. If we are to make a show of force then we need the Nyx.”  
Cid was unhappy that his wife was finally behind his plan; the cost was almost more than his heart could bear. “We will stay here until you recover,” he said, placing his hand over hers when she made to argue. “We will find another ground to weather out the winter if it comes to that. The next time the Stiria meet with the Crux it will be to take the tribe.”

 

“The Stiria are not here?” Frejari couldn't hide the glee in her voice as she was given the names of the tribes present at the yearly gathering. “They were a large tribe; this is a blow to our people,” she continued, in a faux concerned way.  
“No other tribe has seen them for a long time. The word from the Trabia tribe, who were the last to see them, was the Chief and his wife would be coming here so she could birth her babe.” The apprentice twisted the cloth of her tunic between her fingers, worried. “What could have happened to them?”  
“Macalania blessed them?” Lumia blinked her clouded eyes and peered over at the pair. She and several other devout Fayth were lounging on furs about the room, lost in dreams where they spoke to the green-skinned Goddess. “You said they were cast out by her,” she said to Frejari in a thick voice.  
“They are!” She snapped back. There was no possible way Cid's woman was with child; Macalania would never allow such a thing to come to pass! “They are not welcome by the Goddess. They are not welcome here, either. It is all to the good that they did not come. They would have been put to death.”  
The apprentice tried to keep her face neutral; these past three years she had seen the Fayth fall to ruin. Frejari had done something to corrupt them, but only those who saw inside the hut knew this; if they spoke of it they disappeared. To the rest of the tribes they were as they always had been; spiritual leaders of the people.  
“Where is the Chief of the Trabia?” Frejari wanted to hear everything about the Stiria. She could hope that Cid and his wife fell on the way to the Crux, but that didn't explain where the rest of the tribe were; whenever they were leaderless, tribes returned to them to oversee the trials between potential leaders to replace the fallen.  
“I will bring him here,” the apprentice said, turning to leave.  
“No!” Frejari snatched the woman's arm. “You will tell him I will come to his hut, as an honor to his high position.” The Fayth sniggered to herself as the other woman left; she respected no Chief; Macalania's voice was the one she obeyed. If it turned out the Stiria tribe were truly lost in the snow it was all the better for her; no more Cid to question her authority and hatch schemes. 

Frejari sipped her tea as the Trabia Chief recalled the last time he'd seen the Stiria tribe. He mentioned one of the Trabia women had stayed with them, having found a man among them who she wanted to marry. This was not welcome news for Frejari, who had been tracking the Stiria tribe's links with others. To her count they had connections with no less than a dozen, with the greatest being that of the Nyx. Those two tribes were so intermingled they were almost one. This had not been overlooked by her, either, and she was intending on dealing with the weaker tribe once they arrived. Ipsen had a habit of bringing his people to the gathering as late as possible and leaving as soon as they could; an obvious ploy to avoid being around the Fayth for too long and raise suspicion. How unlucky for him that Frejari was already suspicious.  
How to deal with the Stiria? Frejari mused, nodding along to the Chief as he chatted about wanting his son to marry the daughter of another tribe. She could not use the Ifrit again, not against that many people. There would be no way to administer poison if the Stiria wouldn't come to the Crux. There was one other way, however, but not without its own risks. “What did you say?” she said, registering his words at last.  
“My son,” the Chief said. “I know he is young, but the Stiria have an arrangement in place with the Nyx for their whytkins and it seemed a sensible approach. If they marry young there is a greater chance of stronger babes being born. And,” he added in a proud voice, “I have been Chief of my tribe for many years, with none ever questioning my leadership. My son learns from me and would take over without challenge. If he has a wife when he does the tribes could become one.”   
Frejari was furious, but hid it well. “The Stiria and the Nyx are wedding their children to each other?”  
“Yes,” the Chief said, chuckling. “Why have we never thought of it before? Our tribes are safer with more numbers.”  
“Less tribes means less matches to be made,” Frejari replied, taking the tone of wise advisor. “The Stiria and the Nyx would deny their people each other by becoming one, for our people cannot marry within their own tribe.”  
The Chief grimaced. “Yes, I didn't think of that.” He stood when Frejari did and escorted her to the flap acting as a door, holding it up for her. “Surely,” he said, hesitantly, “if those of the same blood know their own then there is no danger in blending?”  
“If the Goddesses wanted our people to live this way then it would be this way; we must all live under the rule of the Goddesses.” Frejari stalked back in the direction of her hut, muttering to herself about the Stiria poison working its way through the people. She had learned Cid's plan; to merge with the Nyx and corrupt their people, but she would not allow it to happen. If the Stiria still lived, they needed not to. She would decide what to do with the Nyx after meditating and seeking advice from Macalania.


	9. Chapter 9

“Ipsen.”  
The way Frejari said his name made his shoulders rise up to the level of his ears; he had been hoping to avoid the Fayth for as long as possible, or at least have someone else with him when he ran into her. He didn't know what it was about the woman, but she put ice in his veins. “Can I help you?” he said, turning around and meeting her gaze as calmly as he was able.  
“Where is your friend, Cid?” Frejari didn't bother with pleasantries.  
“Cid? Of the Stiria?” Ipsen shrugged. “I haven't seen him for some time.” Cid had informed him that Caleen was with child again and Ipsen found he couldn't look at his friend. It reminded him too much of Rinoa and so he'd avoided the common paths the tribe usually took to run into the Stiria. “Are the tribe not here?” He'd noticed they were absent, but assumed they were arriving late, as he did.  
“They are not.” The elderly woman gestured for him to walk beside her, and he did so reluctantly. “I have heard worrying things about the Stiria and the Nyx.”  
Ipsen's face remained neutral. “What could worry a Fayth?”  
“That your tribes are planning on joining together, using the whytkins as an anchor.”  
Ipsen's brow furrowed on the strange word she used. “There is no law against tribes merging.”  
“It is dangerous. Larger tribes carry the greater risk of inbreeding and being attacked by outcasts or the Ifrit.” Frejari stopped and put her hand on Ipsen's arm. “I have also heard that Cid wants to take the Crux's place.” She had heard nothing of the sort, but spying the rapidly masked shock on Ipsen's face told her the guess was correct. “You and your friend reach for that which is Etro's to hold,” she hissed, clutching his arm with a bony-fingered hand and dragging him to a more secluded spot. “What else are you planning?”  
Ipsen shook his head, not willing to give up the Stiria. Frejari had always terrified him. She always knew things she couldn't possibly know about his tribe, but his and Cid's plan was for the good of everyone; he couldn't betray it.  
“No matter,” she spat, releasing him. “You tribe is guilty enough to be cast out.”  
Ipsen gasped. “No.” His tribe was smaller than Cid's and relied on the matches made to gain new warriors and mix their blood; if they were forbidden from this then they would die out. What would become of his son? Ipsen fell to his knees before the Fayth. “What do you want of me?” he said, bowing his head, already defeated without putting up a fight.  
“Tell me everything.”

 

The first warning they got was when a couple of scouts didn't return for the midday meal. The tribe were gathered in the canvas tent, sitting together and chatting as they ate when it was noted pochikas were missing.  
“Freya, take Balthier and find out where they are,” Cid said, calling to the tracker and warrior.   
The pair barely made it outside the tent when they were set upon, Freya's shout suddenly cut off as her throat was slit.  
The Stiria reacted in an instant; the children grouped together and taken out by Temia and two others through a side flap, as the rest of the tribe surged forward, snatching up weapons that had been lying beside them while they ate.  
The rogues turned tail and ran, drawing the tribe with them.   
Cid didn't have time to organise his people, such was their rage at their own being killed in front of them. The tribe were scattered, ice weavers lobbing missiles as they ran, with none remaining to defend the camp. The warriors were a mass of fur covered bodies, all rushing headlong into the trap the rogue tribe set, their side appearing from beneath the snow as people rushed by and attacking them in smaller groups of one and two. The confusion they caused made things worse for the Stiria and there was much yelling and wild swinging of weapons as they attempted to attack and defend themselves from the smaller group.   
Cid did his best to get those nearest to him to think before they struck; he was Chief and it was his responsibility to keep his people alive and to lead them. He hefted a mighty club and cracked the skull of the woman coming at him, deadly daggers outstretched in her fists. She yelped and fell to the snow, blue blood spreading outward and Cid turned to the warrior at his side. “Stop. Think!” He shook the woman and she blinked at him.  
“My Chief?”  
“They are using our size against us. We must be one mind, one body. Pass the message.”  
The Chief's words could be heard repeating over everyone's heads. The few rogues among them being picked off as the Stiria followed Cid and began to calm their panicked minds.   
The rogue tribe scrambled to get free from the knot of people, with many being picked off.  
“We find the rest,” Cid said, pointing with his club in the direction they had seen the others flee. “Be wary.” He quickly took in the amount of warriors with him. “Those nearest the camp, return there and make it safe.”  
The warriors turned and ran back the way they came as the rest continued onwards.

 

Since Cid had led the charge, Caleen remained behind with those unable to fight; the young, old and injured. Temia had taken charge of the whytkins, having a fresh hunting injury. Caleen shook her head; her sister was very much not suited to the life of a warrior. It was almost cruel to make the woman try.   
“Be careful with them,” she said to the group of elders who were moving the bodies of Freya and Balthier to a hut, so they could be prepared for burial. Both had children and their loss would be felt greatly by the whole tribe. Caleen decided she would go and check on the little ones and try to offer some kind of comfort.  
What none of the tribe expected was a splinter group finding a way around the Stiria. As Caleen approached the hut where the children were being guarded a strange man charged out from inside, knocking her into a neighbouring hut. He was covered in blood and had a child clutched under each arm. He was quickly followed by two others, one of whom had Temia in a death grip, while the other threw a blade back into the hut, eliciting screams from the children inside.  
Caleen recovered quickly. “Stop!” She fisted her hand and a shard of ice shot out from the wall, spearing the man nearest the children's hut through the arm and making him drop the whytkin he had under the other. “I won't let you take them,” Caleen said in a dangerous tone.   
“What you gonna do, pedlr?” he spat, gesturing for the others to run.   
“I'm going to kill you,” the chief's wife said. She flicked her fingers and the injured man ended up with a needle thin spear protruding from his neck. He gasped, choked and fell to the ground; dead.   
There were two others still to deal with, but she had to check on those inside the hut first. The children were huddled together, some crying, some comforting the smaller ones. The other two carers were dead, along with one of the pochikas. Several hollow-bone weapons were broken and the dagger the man had thrown was embedded in the wall.  
“Shiva,” Caleen said her daughter's name sternly.  
“Ma?” The little girl came out from the knot of children, holding onto a wailing, baby; they were all blood splattered, but seemed unharmed for the most part. “They were going to kill all the babes, Ma,” she said, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and rage. “They took Temia and –”  
“I know,” Caleen said, cutting her off. “You can't stay in this hut, take the others to ours and hide.”  
“But, Ma, what about Temia?”  
“Do as you're told, Shiva!” Caleen didn't have time to explain. She turned on her heel and ran out of the door, letting the flap drop behind her. She had to get to her sister and the other whytkins before they got lost in the snow.

 

“Let them go,” Caleen commanded, having taken the black chocobo and flown above the fleeing rogues to cut them off. The young bird flapped its wings and flew off back to the herd, leaving the Stirian woman alone and facing down two rogues, both of whom had hostages.  
“You're only one,” the man, who had Temia, said. He brought her in front of him as a shield, making her cry out in pain from her injury. There was a fresh one to her arm, the blood soaking into her sleeve and turning the fabric black. “Get out the way, or we start killing them.”  
“They're going to anyway!” Temia screamed. “I heard them, they were sent by –”   
Whatever Temia was going to say was silenced by her throat being slit.  
The two whytkins screamed and began struggling to get free. Caleen opened her mouth, but no sound came out.   
The rogue threw Temia to the ground where she lay gulping, choking on her own blood and still trying to finish her sentence. “Guess she was right,” he shrugged, smiling evilly.  
It felt like her lungs were going to explode out of her chest. Caleen sucked in a breath and shrieked. Ice shot out from the ground around the two men, piercing their limbs and holding them in place. The children slipped free and ran towards her, placing themselves behind her and hugging each other.  
“Temia!” Caleen screamed, tears tracking down her face and freezing to her cheeks. The feeling building inside her could not be described as anything other than cold. It felt like her body was being frozen from within. She clenched her fists against it and pressed them against her chest, trying to force it away from her heart before it killed her. An orb of white light grew between her hands, colder than anything she'd felt before in her life. Yelling her anger and grief to the sky, she threw it at the pinned rogues, who were trying to chip the ice skewering them.  
The orb shattered into streamers of white, separating to reveal snowflakes, wrapping around the men in a localized blizzard. Their breath misted in front of their faces, harsh and panting as they struggled to breathe; their lungs freezing solid. It wasn't enough punishment to satisfy Caleen. Rushing them, she formed a club made of ice and bashed their skulls in, seeing their eyes widen in that last moment, she wanted to crush them to powder. She struck over and over, the ice freezing their flesh and turning them to statues. The only sound was the club beating down, like tenderizing an animal carcass. Caleen was silent the whole time, and she only stopped when she could no longer physically lift it and the men were blue pulp.   
She collapsed to her knees and sobbed, crawling towards Temia, who lay staring sightlessly upward. The two whytkins approached cautiously, fearful of the warrior's fury. They only hurried when the woman opened an arm to them and all huddled over the body crying until a tracker and his team found them.

 

“She said they were sent by someone,” Caleen said tonelessly, as she lay in the warm bath Cid had prepared for her, though her insides still felt the chill of her magic. The two whytkins had been returned to their parents, and Temia's body had been removed to the preparation hut along with the other men, women and pochikas that had been killed that day.  
“Not now, Caleen,” Cid replied, shutting his eyes and ignoring the tears that rolled down his cheeks. He was hunched over in his seat, destroyed by grief. His parents had always told him to look after his little sister, she was too innocent for such a harsh world, too gentle. Cid knew he was as well; a silly dreamer, not hardly a warrior. He could inspire great things in others, and hid his own weaknesses well. But, he couldn't hide Temia's and thought becoming a Fayth would give her protection. He'd learned that path had its own dangers, but he was so sure he could look after her, he pressed ahead with his plans. He wanted his people, his family to be safe. “I failed her.” He covered his face with his hands and sobbed quietly.   
“You weren't even there,” Caleen said, getting out of the catoblepas bone bath. “I failed her, Cid. I should have killed them the moment I saw them.” She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and crouched in front of him. “Husband,” she said softly, putting her arms around him. “I am so sorry.”

Shiva lay in bed, listening to her parents quite murmurs, sniffing and hugging the chocobo chick she'd brought inside the hut with her. Animals weren't allowed, they could be eaten when times were lean, but Shiva didn't want to make her parents pretend they were fine so they could look after her. She had gone to see her aunt's body when it was brought back, not believing Temia was dead. It wasn't fair, she raged silently, gritting her teeth so she wouldn't cry. She recalled the look on Temia's face when the strange men came into the hut and attacked the pochikas standing nearest to them; no rogue tribe had ever hurt children. Those people may have been cast out by the Fayth, but they still knew how valuable and precious the life of an innocent was.   
“Kill them all,” the man had said. “That way we'll get her for certain.”  
Those caring for the children had fought with everything they had, but they were not in their prime and had the added disadvantage of protecting the young ones. Some of the children had tried to help, striking the men with their training weapons, but they were no match and only got in the way. It was only when Temia had shouted she was Cid's sister that they stopped and dragged her off with them, grabbing some of the girls around Shiva's age to take with.  
The ten-year-old had gathered the others around her, with the babes in the centre, using their bodies to protect them if the men came back; she wouldn't let them kill the babies, she'd die first. The relief when she heard her mother's voice had been more than she could bear. Shiva wanted to throw herself into her arms, but she had to stay strong for everyone else and get them to the Chief's hut where they would be safe. The baby in her arms had been so heavy and she'd stumbled at the end when they reached the doorway to her home, but they made it and she quickly got everyone settled and found rags to wash the worst of the blood splatter off them. She hoped Temia had seen and was proud of her. She rubbed her face against the chocobo, trying to wipe away her tears.

 

“That tribe was twice the size you claimed.”   
The voice jolted Frejari from her meditation and she blinked slowly at the woman who had violated the Fayth's sacred space. “You should not be here,” she said in a thick voice, trying to shake off the lingering wisps from the meeting she'd had with Macalania; the Goddess had been pleased with Frejari's methods of keeping the people pure. “Did you complete your divine trial?”  
The woman glared at the Fayth and yanked off the robe she'd put on to disguise herself in the Crux camp. “Did you not hear me? That tribe killed most of mine!” She should have known better than to listen to the Fayth when she found the stone symbol left at one of their camp sites; she recognized the picture and had been curious why Frejari wanted to see her. The thought of her tribe being brought in from the cold had convinced her it was worth the risk to carry out the Fayth's order, but Frejari had lied to her; the Stiria tribe was no easy mark, and finding the females they were told needed to die had been even harder. The amount of whytkins in their camp was more than they expected and none of them spoke the name of the Chief's daughter, so they had no idea which one it was. Only Temia, the Chief's sister, admitted her identity, so killing her was their only saving grace.  
“If you were successful, it would be a worthwhile sacrifice,” Frejari replied. “Were you?”  
“Temia is dead,” the woman replied bluntly. “I saw my man slit her throat with my own eyes.” She didn't add that she had also seen the icy justice given out by the ice weaver, but it was something she would never forget. Whatever else Frejari wanted of her tribe she wouldn't get it. “Keep your part of the bargain; bring us in from the cold.”  
Frejari stood up in a swirl of navy layers and went to a shelf where she carefully picked out a jar full of small, red seeds that had a black dot on each. “Your tribe must be purified before they can return to us,” she said, measuring out a pouch's worth and holding them out to the woman. “These must be made into a tea and all of your tribe must drink it. If any do not, the whole tribe will be rejected by the Goddesses.”  
The woman slowly reached out a hand for the pouch. “And that is all? No more?”  
“That will be all,” Frejari replied, waiting until the woman had slipped back out of the hut to smile at the painful death she had just sentenced the tribe to. The poison was necessary; she couldn't have anyone knowing what she had done to protect the people. Her smiled faded, however, when she thought of the Chief's daughter still living; if she was to stop Cid's plan then at least one of the two whytkins had to die, and holding the blade above the son of Ipsen would only keep him quiet while he was within the Fayth's reach. No, the Stiria girl would be the one to die. The sister was dead, and soon Caleen would follow and then Cid would have no way of furthering his tribe's plot. He would have to hand the Stiria over to another in the end. All Frejari had to do was make sure the next Stiria Chief was one she could control; the whole tribe was a festering wound that needed to be purified one way or another. She looked to the shelf where the jars of herbs and potions were kept and frowned when she saw she was getting low on the stock of pellets she and the others used to speak to Macalania. She would have to arrange another meeting with the Ifrit to obtain more. Frejari's smile returned, it must be divine intervention. She needed supplies and she had women to trade; the Ifrit would find no disappointment from taking the Stiria tribe.


	10. Chapter 10

Shiva sat on the outer edge of the circle of children inside the tent; her father was telling a story to them and she knew from experience that those closest would end up screaming the loudest.

“Where did you father learn these?” Taran whispered to her.

The Nyx had appeared along the trail a few weeks before and the two tribes had been travelling close together ever since. The entire Nyx tribe were acting in the role of trackers, leading the Stiria, who were half a day's walk behind. Warriors from both tribes went between them and the atmosphere was one of much excitement and joy, but there was also an undertone that something was coming to a head. Shiva didn't know what, but recently, every time she went into her hut, her parents and Ipsen were huddled together and stopped talking when they saw her.

The Nyx set up camp and the Stiria had joined them the following day, but soon they would break again to move on. The tribes weren't making any matches, Shiva noticed, but they were all mingling together; almost as if they were a single tribe.

“From his mother,” Shiva whispered back, once the screams had died down and Cid had moved onto a new story. “When she was still a young warrior she found a place that had pictures all over the walls. They weren't anything like what we know and she brought them back to the tribe and made up tales about them.” She smiled, thinking of the grandmother she had never met and how she had entertained the tribe with words. “The Fayth took most of the pictures one gathering, but vydran still has a few.”

“Could I see them?” Taran glanced over to Cid, who was absorbed in telling the story of the time he met the Goddess of Death. The children were all still and silent as Cid used his whole body to tell the story, even throwing himself onto the floor to re-enact the moment he realised he was in the presence of Etro. “Could we go now?” he added.

Shiva knew she shouldn't. Her mother had been very strict on the matter; once her cycle begun, she was not allowed to be alone with any boy of another tribe. She and Taran weren't kin, even though the tribes were becoming closer as time went by.

Sudran couldn't have meant Taran, she decided, nodding her head and shuffling back towards the edge of the tent. “I'll show you, but we have to be quick.”

The pair sneaked out and darted towards the large hut that belonged to Shiva and her family. Once inside, the eleven-year-old girl, led her fourteen-year-old friend to a room at the rear, pulling the animal-skin covering aside from the doorway and waving him in. “This is where da keeps all of the things we find,” she explained, as Taran's eyes widened.

“I've never seen so many in one place,” he breathed.

Objects were carefully placed around the room: bricks from structures found hidden under the snow were stacked in a small pile and on top of them were flat, circular pieces of metal with pictures stamped on them. There were several game boards and pieces, all carved from different colored stone. There were fabrics in colors Taran had never seen anywhere but feathers from birds in the jungle, although they were still less vibrant. “The Fayth wear this color,” he said, touching one in a dark blue. “It's so light, too.”

“Yes, those were found under the ground. I think they were there for a very long time because they're not very well cared for.” They also smelled, Shiva thought, wrinkling her nose. “The pictures are here,” she said, grabbing Taran's wrist and pulling him towards the far wall. “Da keeps them covered up so they don't rot. I think many of these things weren't made for the cold.”

Shiva moved the picture forward with one hand and pulled the hide covering off it, then set it back again. “What do you think?”

Taran's eyes widened. “It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” he said quietly. Wherever the picture had been stored it hadn't suffered the same way the fabrics had. It was a perfectly clear image, wide as he was tall, and came up past his belly button in height. “But, your vydran kept a picture of monsters?”

Shiva rolled her eyes. “They're not monsters, they're Eidolons.” At Taran's blank look she frowned. “Your sudran told you stories of a princess, but not the Eidolons?”

Taran shrugged, having forgotten that he'd told Shiva about that; his mother had learned the word from her mother, a Fayth, as well as other words, and it was a tribe secret he shouldn't have shared.

“Da's sudran used to make up names for them all, but I can't remember them.” Shiva went on, pointing at the group of metal warriors positioned at the rear of the picture. “These ones are the Chief and his best warriors. This woman has been eaten by a monster,” she said, poking a finger at a female wrapped in chains and half-swallowed by a large plant. “This is a chocobo.” The large, green bird hovered in the top corner of the picture, surrounded by thick, grey clouds. Below it, an old man in flowing robes stood. In his hand was a staff, struck by a lightning bolt. “And look, here's Shiva too.” She gently touched the blue-skinned figure who was standing next to a woman with wings for hair, and holding a harp in her hands.

“Shiva's not an Eidolon,” Taran said. “She's a Goddess.”

“Shiva is a warrior,” Shiva argued.

“These are Eidolons,” Taran repeated slowly, as if he suddenly knew everything about the beings. “Shiva wouldn't be in a picture with them. She would be with the other Goddesses.”

“Maybe she was an Eidolon before she was a Goddess.” Shiva didn't know if this was even possible, but she knew the woman in the painting was Shiva; what other blue-skinned woman could it be?

“Maybe it's a creature from another place. People don't have wings, either. Or have skin made of metal.”

The children's voices were growing louder as they argued, but were abruptly silenced when a third voice joined them.

“What are you doing in here with my daughter?” Caleen glared at Taran and he shrank back under the force of it. “Well?”

“It's my fault, Ma,” Shiva said quickly. “I wanted to show Da's pictures to Taran.”

“Get out,” she said to the boy, who ran past the woman. “You should know better, Shiva,” Caleen turned on her. “You are not a babe any longer. You should not be acting so free with yourself.”

Shiva scowled. “I wasn't. Taran wanted –”

“Taran wanted,” Caleen mocked. “Men will want, Shiva. Even before they are given the blessing of the marriage rite.” She stepped close to Shiva and crouched down. “When you are grown, men will look at you and want, but they may only have when you also want.”

“I know,” she muttered, her cheeks mottling as she blushed. “I don't want Taran.” There came a sound of stifled laughter and Shiva looked at her mother. “Why is that funny? You just said – ”

Caleen stopped her. “I know what I said. I'm surprised you know your own mind at such a young age.”

Shiva scowled. “Either I am a babe or I am not.”

“Go and see Marcus,” Caleen said shortly. “You can spend the day _with_  the babes. Perhaps that will remind you to respect your elders.”

The young girl stomped off, holding her tongue until she was well out of her mother's hearing, and then went into a storm of muttering things she would have said if she wasn't so worried about the punishment being worse than babysitting.

 

“Why does that girl not have your temperament?” Caleen said to Cid, having made sure Shiva went to look after the babes before going to the tent where her husband was.

“She wants to be like you,” he replied, waving off the last of the children as he sat back, satisfied at having scared a few of them.

“She is succeeding,” Caleen said wryly. “She questions everything and disagrees with everything.”

“She is like me then,” Cid chuckled. “If she were like you should would destroy everything in sight in a temper.”

“I do not destroy everything in sight,” she shot back. “Just your things,” she added with a smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “My dreamer.” Her expression grew serious again. “We need to decide on who will remain with the children when the rest of us go to the Crux.”

“Later, when Ipsen arrives.”

“You truly believe this is the way?” She wanted to follow her husband. She wanted her people to live in a world that was safe. She wanted Temia's death to not be for nothing. Still, she couldn't help but doubt.

“I do,” Cid replied, putting his arm around her. “Those who go first must cut the path for others to follow. Even if we do not succeed, our tribe has led and others will know there is another way.” This was the only time Cid had ever expressed the thought his people may not survive to see the new path he was leading them on. He had spent his whole life travelling to this moment and now, as it was upon them, he was filled with sadness.

“We will succeed,” Caleen said, leaning into him. “We have made a strong tribe who all desire the same thing; to find an end to this way of life. It is killing us, and not even the Fayth can prevent such a thing. In the end this world will be lifeless; is that really what the Goddesses want?”

Cid agreed it couldn't be, for why else would Shiva appear to them and grant them magic to keep them alive? The couple spent the rest of the day settling things for their people; they would begin the journey once the preparations were complete.

 

 

“Da said I have to stay ahead of everyone and scout for the Nyx today,” Taran said a few days later. He'd avoided being alone with Shiva after the pair had been caught by the girl's mother, but had come looking for her to tell her this news in case she thought he was ignoring her. His father was acting oddly, more so than usual, snapping whenever Taran mentioned any of the Stiria tribe by name, so was more than happy to avoid the Chief until he calmed down.

“By yourself?” Shiva frowned. “You're not old enough to do that.”

“My tribe doesn't follow the same rules as yours in everything,” he replied. “We're smaller, so our scouts must learn quicker and at a younger age.” He smiled at the worried look on her face. “Don't worry. I have the gift of a Goddess.” He held his gloved hand out and scowled at his open palm.

“You look silly,” Shiva said, when nothing happened.

“I can do it. Shiva blessed me when our tribe was attacked leaving the gathering last year. I was surrounded and thought I was going to die, but then She blessed me!” Taran stared so hard at his hand his eyes crossed.

Shiva laughed, but then gasped as she was tipped off her feet by a small wave of snow rising up from the ground.

“I told you I was blessed!” Taran crowed. His expression quickly changed when he took in the unimpressed stare the girl was giving him.

His father had said that it would be better if Taran didn't try to win Shiva's heart any longer, even though he'd been saying the two would marry when they were older since they first met. He couldn't turn off his feelings, strange as they were. He wanted to impress Shiva, like the older warriors did when they tried to win a woman, but whenever he thought of her he got a pain in the pit of his stomach, like someone was trying to rip his nethers off. It didn't stop his feelings, but it did make him irritable with the object of his affections. “Give me your hand,” he said, reaching out to pull her up.

Shiva ended up far closer to Taran than was appropriate for non-kin and she inhaled quickly, looking down and trying not to blush. “Thank you,” she said in a quiet voice.

Taran's eyes swept her face, seeming to notice for the first time how much more mature she looked; it wouldn't many years before they were both grown and could get married. He would convince his father that it was still a good idea for him and Shiva to wed. He dropped her hand and stepped back. “It was my fault you fell in the first place,” he said.

“You will have to make it up to me,” she replied. The smile that came to her lips made Taran want to move closer again, but then he got another ache low down and didn't.

“What do you have in mind?” He knew whatever it was wouldn't be anything of interest to him, but he would do it because seeing Shiva smile and laugh was worth everything.

 

“That's not fair!” Shiva wiped the snow from her eyes and glared across the field at Taran. “I haven't got any magic, so you shouldn't be allowed to use yours!”

“That's a good argument, princess. Here's my reply.” A snowball formed a foot in front of her and she dodged at the last second. Once he relaxed, Taran found it much easier to control his magic, though his learning was still lacking.

When Shiva had suggested they sneak away to have a snowball fight before Taran had to go off and scout for his tribe, she had thought him struggling with his magic would give her an edge; she was wrong. She ducked another snowball and stamped her foot in frustration, although all that was heard was a minute crunch as the snow compacted under it. “Taran, I mean it!”

The pale-skinned boy threw his head back and laughed. “That must have made you feel better!” He needed the game to end quickly, so he could catch up to his tribe before they noticed he was missing; it would be easy enough if he borrowed one of the Stiria's chocobos, but he had to finish the snowball fight first.

Shiva narrowed her eyes; she refused to lose! She gathered together another fistful of snow and lobbed it at him. Taran dived to the side and threw one back, pelting her in the face again.

“Taran!” Shiva's face stung and ice crystals stuck to her lashes. “That really hurts!”

“You told me not to use magic, so I didn't. Do you not want me to hit you in the head too?” He scowled at her. “You should have set the rules before we started.”

“You're a ycc!” she yelled at him. “If this is how your tribe snow fights then you are the worst tribe in Frigidia!” She turned to go back to her tribe, who were a smudges of movement in the middle distance. They would pack up their things ready to follow the Nyx the next day, although her father had explained to her that she and the other whytkins would remain in a camp with the Nyx whytkins and some elder warriors once they got closer to the Crux tribe. They would then be collected up a few days later. Shiva had never been separated from her tribe in this way and she was worried, but her father seemed excited by it, so she trusted him to know what was best.

Taran quickly got to his feet and slid towards her. “I'm sorry, Shiva,” he said, clutching both her hands and squeezing them. “My tribe does things differently to yours, that's all. We need to find a way together.”

Shiva frowned, it sounded like Taran meant something completely different to the rules of a snowball fight.

“You know you adore me,” he smiled.

Shiva blushed. “Do not.”

“Of course you do. You know that our fathers want us to –” He stopped and peered at something over her shoulder. The smiled dropped from his face. “Shiva, run.”

“What?” She tried to look, but Taran was already pulling her along, away from where the tribe were. “My people are over that way,” she said, pointing.

“We'll never get there in time. We have to hide!”

Shiva's heart sped up; what had he seen? Was is a krysta? A vicious animal? She wanted to look, but she didn't want to look. In the end she glanced over her shoulder and saw spots of light dancing and growing larger. “What is that?” she panted to Taran, having never seen anything like it before.

“Ifrit.”

She stopped dead, and nearly had her arm tugged from the socket when Taran yanked her forward. “No, we have to tell the tribe!”

“We'll be cut down before we get there,” Taran said back. He could hear the rhythmic thudding of the Ifrit's boots hitting the snow; the sound growing louder with every passing second he wasted trying to convince Shiva to come with him. “They're coming!” He twisted and picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder and jogging towards a cliff face that was acting as a wind break.

A bellow made Shiva look up and scream; the Ifrit was almost on top of them! How did they catch up so quickly? She could pick out the blue of the monster's eyes as it closed the distance between them. In his claw he held a stick of flame, and the heat and smell of it wafted towards her on the breeze. “We have to get to the tribe!” she screamed at Taran, but he ignored her, putting her down and throwing her towards a fissure in the cliff face, cramming them both in the gap and nudging her along the extremely narrow passage way until they both popped out into a cavity. The Ifrit's roar of frustration echoed around the small space and the sound of claws scraping the wall made Shiva shudder. The stench that followed them into the space was foul and stung the back of her throat.

She turned to Taran. “We have to go and help them!”

“Are you mad?” Taran's eyes were huge. “They're Ifrit!” He rubbed his other shoulder where the beast had caught him with the torch, and gasped when he felt heat scorch his skin. “I'm burning!” He dove to the floor and rolled about, his clothes emitting a hiss as it touched the icy ground and the small fire was put out. The boy panted with relief, his entire body going limp. “We can't help them,” he muttered, wanting to cry.

“You won't help them!” Shiva yelled. She hadn't noticed the flames creeping up his back, but seeing how easily they were put out she felt the tribe stood a chance. “You have magic. You are an ice weaver. You can do something.” Shiva fell to her knees. “Please, Taran. They're my people. We could find a way to reach your tribe. Together we could win.”

“You want me to sacrifice my tribe?” As soon as he said it he knew it was wrong.

Shiva stood up, her face a mask of disgust. “You would sacrifice mine. Coward.” She moved to the gap and put her eye to it. The Ifrit that had been chasing them was gone, most likely to the camp with the others. “I refuse to sit by while my people are slaughtered. I have to do something.”

“You're a child, Shiva. You have no magic and no skill with weapons. You'd just get in the way.” Taran sat up and looked at her pleadingly. He didn't want her to die; he wanted her. If he could keep her safe then it would be alright.

“I would rather die bravely than cower in this place with you!” She slipped through the gap before Taran could stop her and quickly emerged the other side. Shouts could be heard in the distance; and screams. A strange crackling noise was loudest of all. It sounded like some angry beast. Shiva panted, fear stealing her courage. She tried to calm her breathing. “They will be fine,” she said to herself. “My tribe are strong warriors.”

“Shiva!” Taran's voice called through the gap. “Wait for me. I have to keep you safe.”

“Keep yourself safe!” she yelled back, turning and running towards the camp, knowing that Taran wouldn't follow.

 

 

Everything hurt. Everything hurt and everything felt numb at the same time. A heavy weight pressed on her chest, and she couldn't breathe very well due to something clogging her nose. Shiva shook her head and felt a damp braid snake across her cheek. With effort, she moved her hand to her face and wiped it, opening her eyes to see fingers stained blue with blood.

I'm wounded? She stared at it and then at the space around her. She was covered in snow, with very little space for movement or air. She had been buried, somehow. This was a very bad thing. Those who got caught in avalanches were never found. How had this happened? Everything was white around her and everything hurt. She couldn't get past the pain to think. Which way was up? If she could find up, she could dig her way out, maybe. She'd never been buried in the snow before; if she had she would have died.

Blinking, she tried to clear the fog in her mind that said she was having the same thoughts over and over. _Dig._  The thought had come to her a moment ago and been lost. Now, it became the only thing to remember.

With effort, Shiva reached out and curled her fingers into the snow above her, scraping it away and to the side. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes before she uncovered the star-studded sky and sucked in a deep breath of cold, foul-tasting air; there was a scent on the wind that she didn't recognise, or like.

Shiva rolled over and crawled out from, what turned out to be, a snowbank. It was night and eerily silent. Where was everyone? Where was the camp? Lumps of ice were scattered about where the huts had stood. The snowy ground looked dark and slushy. Feathers blew on the breeze, yellow and black, but with no sign of any chocobos about. The carts the people used to carry their belongings were gone too. Had the tribe moved on and left her behind?

“Ma? Da?” She tried not to panic. She was alone, but she was sure someone would notice she was missing and send a tracker to find her. Shiva took a couple of steps and tripped over something.

Falling to her knees, her stomach rebelled and she threw up all she had eaten that day. Her head throbbed even worse, her eyes were blurry with tears and her nose was running. She looked back to see what had tripped her and recoiled at the severed and blackened limb. Her head whipped around, seeing things clearly as horror swept away the lingering fog in her mind. The tribe hadn't moved on without her. The tribe were still here.

“Oh,” she said, her voice cracking. Things she hadn't even noticed were now leaping out at her. The strange lumps scattered about were body parts; warriors torn limb from limb and thrown down. Scorch marks blackened much of the camp. All of the huts were destroyed. Furs and other things lay scattered about, some smoking like the peat fires when they were first lit. Worse, it was so quiet. She had never known such silence; there was always some sound, even if it was just the muffled sighs of her parent's breathing as they slept.

As Shiva got to her feet and walked about she heard a strange crunching sound underfoot that wasn't snow. She lifted her foot and saw shards of what looked like ice, but was sharp like a blade. The pieces carried a strange odour that she didn't recognise.

A noise behind her made her whirl and thrust her hands out. The snow between her and whatever it was rose up to form a wall, then immediately fell, revealing Taran.

“Taran!” Shiva sobbed, throwing herself at him. “What happened?”

The boy was shocked Shiva had used magic, but was relieved she was alive. He hugged her tightly. “Ifrit, Shiva. They attacked.”

Behind him was a small group of Nyx warriors, led by Ipsen, who wore a woeful expression. With the warriors were a few whytkins of Shiva's tribe: one a couple of years older than her, one her age, one younger and two little ones. The oldest two had babes in their arms. There were no other kin with the Nyx; not her parents, not any warriors, or children.

Shiva untangled herself from Taran and went to her kin. “Where is everyone? Where are the other babes?”

“They're all dead,” the eldest whispered, trying not to frighten the little ones, who were still in shock. “The Ifrit killed them.”

“No, not our tribe,” Shiva argued. “We have the best warriors. My father is the greatest leader and my mother is the greatest warrior.”

“Shiva, you and the others will come with us,” Ipsen said, putting his hand on the other girl's shoulder and shaking his head; it was better that she didn't recall what happened. From what little the whytkins had said, Shiva had put herself in front of an Ifrit to distract it while they escaped to warn the Nyx.

The Stiria tribe needed to die, Frejari had said. Ipsen, had refused at first. Then, his son had been attacked and only the blessing of Shiva had saved him. The next time Frejari's messenger came to him, he agreed, finding the Stiria and convincing them that travelling in tandem would ease the union of the two groups.

Every time he looked at Cid and Caleen he felt sick at his deception. Every time he looked at their daughter self-loathing ate at his soul; she was going to die because of him.

It was through luck that his people survived the ambush; he'd noticed one of his tribe acting strangely and trying to sneak away from the camp. When Ipsen had grabbed him and demanded to know what was happening he learned that Frejari was planning on having the Ifrit come for the Stiria. Ipsen had been shocked at this news. Frejari controlled the Ifrit. There would be no survival for anyone who they came upon.

Somehow, he'd separated his tribe from the Stiria and led them away; self-preservation taking a higher priority than loyalty and friendship. He'd then closed his eyes and ears to anything that came, only acting when the whytkins showed up and said that Shiva had sent them for help. He'd expected to return to this spot to find the girl as dead as the rest, but she lived.

Frejari would believe she died.

Ipsen looked over his shoulder at the dazed girl, as she plodded beside her remaining people towards the place the Nyx had set up camp. How she survived he didn't know, but she had and now he would spend the rest of his life making amends to Cid and Caleen by bringing up Shiva as his own; it was the only way to protect her from Frejari, who would be angry at any of the Stiria surviving. The other whytkins were still in danger as well, but if he was clever he could conceal them from the Fayth. It was all he could do to make up for what he had done. 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

“ _Run faster,” the pochikas beside her gasped._

_The Ifrit were chasing after the children, picking them off one by one. Those carrying babes fell first and Shiva clenched her teeth to stop from screaming. “They're going to catch everyone,” she panted back, hating herself for being useless. She shoved a smaller child forward when they began to slow in front of her. “We have to do something!”_

_A strange look passed over the boy's face and he nodded grimly. “Don't stop running,” he said, stopping and drawing a bone-bladed knife from his waistband._

“ _What? No!” Shiva slid to a halt and waved the others on. “Find the Nyx,” she yelled, tackling the legs of the Ifrit about to strike the boy down, causing it to miss._

“ _Shiva!” The boy grabbed her hand and yanked her up._

_The Ifrit got to its feet, eyes flicking to the rapidly disappearing children, then to the two in front of it. “Shiva,” it repeated in a lisping voice._

_She felt a chill go through her at the way it said her name. “I won't let you hurt them!” she shouted, trying to hold tightly to her courage. She had no weapon and no skills. What could she do? She wanted to save someone! Tears stung her eyes and her throat clogged with unvoiced sobs. She couldn't let this happen!_

_A frigid wind blew at her back, colder than anything she'd ever felt before._

_As the Ifrit advanced, she and her kin stepped back, the boy's hand shaking as he pointed the knife at it. “We'll kill you,” he said, bravely._

_The Ifrit laughed. “How do you think you will do that?” it mocked._

_The ice creeping up her back was both numbing and painful. It felt like tiny daggers were stabbing their way along her spine. It moved upwards, curling around her shoulder and stealing her breath; it felt like she was being both frozen and burnt at the same time. Her eyes flicked briefly from the Ifrit to that spot and she gasped at the ghostly, blue fingers clutching her. She looked to her kin and saw another hand reach out to touch him._

“ _With our Blessing,” whispered a furious, icy voice. The hands gripped tightly and Shiva's whole body throbbed in pain, almost driving her to her knees. It then retreated, along with the frozen wind._

_The Ifrit hadn't seen anything apart from two children looking scared. It held up a glossy-looking blade and touched it with pinched talons, making it burst into flame._

_Shiva stepped back and threw an arm up to ward it off the oncoming blow and a wall of snow rose up, hitting the sword and putting the flames out._

_The Ifrit looked at it and growled. It bared its teeth and came at them again._

 

 

Shiva's eyes shot open. She was breathing heavily, staring up at the ceiling, but still seeing the approaching Ifrit in her mind's eye.

“Are you well?” Ipsen's concerned voice came from the other side of the hide covering the doorway to her bedroom. He was not kin, so could not enter.

“Yes,” she said in a croaky voice, sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest. Her heart was thudding and she was covered in a fine layer of sweat, but she was alright; she had lived, after all. She rolled the shoulder Shiva had touched, shuddering at the memory of ice chilling her to the bone. She sensed the Nyx Chief wanted to say more, but, after a beat of silence, his footsteps retreated and she could hear him murmuring to Taran to go back to bed.

Shiva had lived with the Nyx for two years, but it still felt strange to her. She didn't think she would ever wake up and not wonder why she wasn't in her room in her parent's hut, or step outside and expect to see the familiar faces of her tribe.

At first, the Nyx had taken in all the children who survived the Ifrit attack, but every time they met with another tribe they handed one over until only Shiva remained. Ipsen explained this was because they could not have so many of another tribe merge with theirs without it raising suspicion; the Nyx could be cast out otherwise.

Shiva was sad to see the other whytkins she'd grown up with leave, but if it meant they were safe then she couldn't object. She threw herself into training to keep her emotions at bay; the Nyx did begin lessons younger than the Stiria had, as Taran told her. Being a smaller tribe they needed to gain skills faster, so she was grateful for that at least. She was behind them all, so trained hard to catch up to their level, falling into bed an exhausted heap at the end of each day.

It was only at night that her thoughts ran wild and her memories of the attack came to the surface. The scene where she had been blessed by Shiva was a common one, though still terrified her, knowing it was true. Sometimes she didn't wake before Ifrit caught them and she was forced to watch as it tore her kin limb from limb.

 

 

As well as weapons training, Shiva was also part of the group of pochikas and older warriors perfecting their skills in ice weaving. The Goddess's blessing could be given to any and wasn't only reserved for the young, so the ages were varied.

Shiva frowned heavily, eyes narrowed in concentration at the lump of ice in front of her. She had already discarded one piece after the sculpture she was trying to make of a chocobo turned into a grotesque monster. She'd wanted to smash it, but that would have drawn attention. As it was, she shut her eyes and took several deep breaths, then began again.

As the group of twenty worked on their blocks of ice, an elder walked the space between them and distorted them, forcing everyone to adapt and make fine adjustments; this was the way that all Frigidians learned to focus the gift given to them by the Goddess, Shiva. Once it was decided they were precise enough not to cause accidents they would move onto combat using their gift; Shiva was looking forward to that.

“That's pretty,” Taran complimented, breaking her concentration.

“Mmm,” she replied, pulling a face at the crude copy of a tree she had made. The tribe passed one the day before and she had been drawn to the shape and how the icicles clung to it, but she couldn't get the branches to look right and became frustrated trying to make her snow delicate enough to lay on top without the whole thing looking like it should bow from the weight.

“What is it?” He was tilting his head this way and that.

“A tree,” Shiva said, scowling. “How can it look pretty if you do not even know what it is?” she bit out the question, irritation rising.

Before he could answer she felt something wet slap the back of her neck. She turned around to see two Nyx girls, Anxie and Jihl, giggling and whispering to each other.

Shiva's lips thinned and she took a deep breath; it wouldn't be right for her to rise to their baiting. She scooped the snow into her hand and flicked it to the ground.

Conflicts were a rare thing. The tribespeople needed to rely on each other in tense situations, so arguments were usually settled quickly. However, Shiva was an outsider to this tribe and Anxie had decided that she shouldn't be there at all, never failing to make the message clear with tricks and muttered comments. Taran usually stepped in and made her back off, but Shiva couldn't keep expecting him to do that, not if she wanted to find a place within the Nyx that was her own.

“Did you see what that ycc did to my sculpture?” A heavy-set boy, Biggs complained loudly, as they were dismissed by the elder.

“Made it better?” the skinnier of the two, Wedge, laughed. “Couldn't have made it worse!”

The duo began scuffling as they walked, knocking into a stern-faced woman, Dalia, who punched Biggs's shoulder. “Grow up, you two!”

Shiva shook her head fondly; they reminded her of her own brothers, always fighting and arguing. She then frowned; she didn't have brothers and sisters anymore.

“I think my sculpture will turn out the best,” Anxie bragged.

“The Elder didn't even get to yours yet,” Taran pointed out. “It's not that easy to work with deformed ice,” he added.

Anxie rolled her blue eyes. “So says the Chief's son.”

“If you have issue with that then go get your parents to challenge him.”

Anxie sniffed and turned her face away.

“Hmph, thought not.” Taran wrapped his fingers around Shiva's wrist and tugged her along with him. “Come on, Shiva.”

Shiva let Taran lead her away only so far before pulling free. “You don't have to drag me about like some baby,” she said crossly.

“My father told me to look after you and that's what I'm doing,” he replied, his frown identical to hers. His father hadn't really needed to tell him, he had promised to always look after Shiva after letting her down so badly the day her people died. He would protect her.

“We're in camp. What could happen to me?”

“Anxie could bury you in snow?” Taran's frown was erased by his grin.

Shiva rolled her eyes. “Funny,” she said in a humourless tone.

“Da put us on the same scout team, so we may as well stay close to one another.”

This wasn't news to either of them, Ipsen always partnered Shiva with Taran since she became old enough to scout for the tribe; his own desire to keep the girl safe was at the forefront of his mind, although to Taran it seemed as if his father was still privately pushing for the two to become a couple.

Lunch was a snatched bowl of fish stew; without the Stiria it turned out the Nyx were mostly southern fishermen and stuck close to the borderlands, travelling from east to west. Shiva had never noticed this fact, but once she did, she realised her tribe had only ever seen the Nyx when they were travelling south themselves. She had never been overly keen on seafood, but since there was little else on offer, she ate it and tried to ignore the fishy taste.

Anxie and Jihl sat with an older girl and played a noisy game of cards. Shiva looked longingly over at them from time to time, recalling how she and her sisters would do the same. When Anxie caught her staring she gave her a challenging look, that Shiva returned with more feeling than she thought she had. A bubble of anger filled her chest at the way the other girl stared at her, as if she had no right to breathe the same air as the Nyx tribe, and she stood up, intending on settling things with her fists.

“Shiva,” Taran grabbed her wrist and yanked her down again before anyone noticed the tension between the two girls. “Ignore her. She's sore because she found out her father tried for Chief after my mother died and he still lost to Ipsen.”

“Why would that make her hate me?” Shiva wasn't even sure she cared to know the answer, but trying to find some sympathy for Anxie would make her less likely to want to hit the girl.

“You're not even Nyx and you have a better place in the tribe than she does.” He leaned in closer to whisper in her ear, “Anxie's mother is the most clumsy warrior and can't be trusted to carry supplies on hunts without dropping them.”

If Taran was expecting Shiva to find this humorous then he was disappointed when it failed to raise even a smile from her. Shiva shook her head instead. “That is sad for her.” She was so proud of her mother for her place in the tribe; a brave warrior, a leader, an ice weaver, teacher, mother, sister, friend. Caleen had been many things to many people. Shiva stood up, blinking back the sudden onslaught of emotion making her eyes fill. “I need to go,” she excused herself and found a quiet spot, sinking to her knees as her face crumpled and tears rolled down her cheeks.

 

 

The scout teams were spread out several miles around the area of the camp, in teams of two or three. Taran and Shiva were by themselves, apart from the chocobos they'd used to get to their location. They had a small pack of supplies with them and were passing the time playing dra rihdan'c kysa, while also keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. They were seated in the snow, with a ground rug under them to keep the chill from seeping into their clothes. Every so often one or the other would get up and look around, before sitting back down again behind the snow bank where they were hidden.

“You know I'll win eventually,” Shiva said, as she called out her move. She had managed to recover from her earlier upset before Taran came looking for her. She had been quiet for most of the afternoon, however, and only became more lively after Taran suggested a game.

“That's because you're too stubborn to know when you're beat,” he laughed back. He leaned forward and thumbed her lower lip, which was jutting out. “You're already pouting.”

Shiva leaned back and drew her lip between her teeth, narrowing her eyes at him; he should not be touching her that way. “I am not,” she mumbled, blushing. She yanked on one of her braids, hard, to stop herself from snapping at him, and turned away, getting to her feet and scanning the area. Taran should not be teasing her, they both knew it. She was not Nyx. When the tribe bathed in the pools edging the jungle, Shiva could not join them, having to wait until everyone was gone before she could go in. When they went to the gathering she would linger on the edges of the crowds, finding there was no place for her. The first year she'd spoken to the two other Stiria children around her age who had joined other tribes, but then Ipsen had appeared and told the others to return to _their_ people.

“ _You cannot be seen with any Stiria,” he said, shaking his head. “If anyone learns one of the largest tribes was killed by Ifrit it would cause mass panic.”_

_Shiva had drawn her lower lip between her teeth and bit down on it as she nodded, tasting her own blood._

_Frejari had announced at the start of the gathering that the Stiria had been cast out; the reason why was never given, but many of the women from the Stiria who had married into other tribes had looked at the Fayth in a state of shock, while those of their new tribes looked at them with suspicion._

_A few of those who had taken the children from Ipsen came to learn what he knew and he managed to tell them something that halted their questions. They had wanted to hand the children over to the Crux, but Ipsen went with them to their huts and when they reappeared no more was spoken of it._

Shiva frowned, tasting blood and realising she'd bitten into her lip again. She let it go and took a deep breath, trying to halt her racing thoughts. She would ask Ipsen not to partner her with Taran any longer; she understood he wanted her to stay with someone she trusted, but his behaviour wasn't as brotherly as it should be.

Shiva sat back down again. “Nothing. Scouting is such dull work.”

“Scouts save lives,” Taran corrected. “A good scout will warn when danger's coming and a bad one –” he stopped, questioning if he had been a bad scout for not warning the Stiria about the Ifrit. They never would have made it to the camp before being killed, he chose the best outcome to keep himself and Shiva alive. It was a tactically sound move, he justified.

“Yes,” she said simply, drawing him from his thoughts. “You don't have many more years doing this.”

Taran shrugged. “A few more still. I won't get my first hunt until my eighteenth year.”

“I want to go hunting.” More than that, Shiva wanted an excuse to hurt something, so it would know how much she hurt.

“You've got more years to go than I have,” he chuckled. “You need more patience, princess.”

Shiva frowned; he shouldn't call her that. “I'm not a princess.”

“You're my princess,” he teased, grabbing hold of her arm and pulling her into his lap. “My frowning princess, who needs to laugh again.” He started tickling her.

Shiva squirmed and squealed. “Taran, stop it!” She tried to get off him, but he had a good grip on her.

“Come on, brave warrior. You want to go hunting, you have to get past me first!” She went to hit him and he grabbed her arms, toppling them both over into the snow. Taran pinned Shiva's wrists by her head and rubbed noses with her. “I miss hearing you laugh,” he said, trying to catch his breath.

“Nothing much is funny anymore,” she said back. She could feel Taran's weight on her and the untapped strength he had that would only grow as he aged and she found her eyes couldn't meet his. “We shouldn't be alone together.”

“Why?” He knew why. It was the reason his father always sent a third along with them, but today he'd bribed their teammate. He'd been raised to love her and didn't see any reason for that to change. They weren't of the same tribe, so he could still marry her, when they were old enough.

“Because,” she whispered. “You're –” She was cut off when Taran's lips pressed against hers. Shiva's eyes widened. She knew what kissing was, but she knew even more that Taran should not be kissing her. She knew she should stop him, push him away and tell him off for doing something that people of the same tribe didn't do with each other. But, they weren't the same tribe and the pain in her heart was soothed a little with his touch. He was kind and brave and wanted to look after her. Her father had approved of him and she knew they were meant to be together. She could feel his hair tickling her cheek and he smelled like fresh water and the chill wind. His kiss was chaste, but there was an undercurrent of want and it was something Shiva didn't fully understand.

“I'm not,” he said, shaking his head as he drew back. “And I'll never be.”

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

The fire spread through the building, driving everyone out. The pale-skinned women coughed and choked on the foul fumes, their chains clinking as they shuffled as fast as they were able. Two were with child and this further slowed them, but they eventually reached the outside and sucked in lungfuls of hot, but clean, air.

Caleen used the confusion to slip away, having broken her chains thanks to her kin. If she could just get to the jungle, lying temptingly in the near distance, then she might have a chance at reaching the frozen lands and finding help. She forced back bile rising in her throat at the thought of leaving the others to suffer the Ifrit, but she was the only one still strong enough to try. Her body rejected any and all seed from the beasts, both a blessing and a curse of its own, and even with the beatings and repeated raping she still held onto her spark of defiance. She would not let everything be for nothing.

She diverted in through the first doorway she came to, as a group of beastmen hurried towards the burning building carrying buckets of water; a precious resource in the desert, but the women were more valuable still. One of Caleen's sisters had sacrificed herself to give the others a chance to escape. She'd hid her labour from the monsters until she was at the final point, screaming as divine flames made her combust. The baby within her lay unharmed in the burning ashes, but the bedding and everything around it caught fire. Until that moment, Caleen had almost thought the story was exaggerated; it had turned out the Ifrit were not fire wielders, as she weaved the ice and snow, but used potions and alchemy to create their flaming aura.

The second the captive tribeswomen had crossed from the frozen lands to the jungle all their icy abilities became useless. It was even worse in the deserts on the other side, with many suffering regular fainting spells, dehydration and exhaustion from the heat. This didn't stop the Ifrit from shoving into them, even if they were sick or unconscious. Caleen's lip curled as she wondered how they had survived four years of this hell, though many hadn't. Slowly their numbers were dwindling, meaning each woman remaining had to satisfy more Ifrit. Caleen held tightly to the image of Cid in her mind whenever she was taken; her dreamer had been a gentle lover with a tender touch that soothed her spirit. These monsters would not sully those memories, no matter how often, or how brutally, they tried.

Turning to observe her surroundings, Caleen realised she was inside one of those places that made the Ifrits armor. She squinted, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim surroundings, and smiled slowly as she spotted rows of weapons. She slid a sword from the rack, noting how much heavier it was than the weapons she was used to.

The sound of plodding footsteps drove her into a darkened corner, waiting to see which of the bastards would be the first to feel her wrath.

Ashkenaz came into the forge and could immediately sense that something was wrong; there was a presence there that hadn't been before he left on an errand. His eyes scanned left and right, but all he saw was dancing spots of light. He breathed deeply, picking up a faint tang of something that pinched his loins; one of the women was in his forge? He shuffled over to a scrubbed, wooden counter and fumbled in a drawer, pulling out a small bottle of purple liquid, which he downed in one. He then took several deep breaths as he felt the instinctive interest in the feminine scent die. He would need to make more of it soon, which meant a trip to the jungle. Ashkenaz growled to himself at that, then raised his voice to address the woman. “You can stop hiding. I have no interest in your body.”

When the woman didn't appear, he shrugged, not expecting her to, really. If one of a race of rapists had told him he was safe he wouldn't believe it either. He went about his work, setting up to strike a new set of swords and leaving the woman to her hiding place. If she wanted respite from her horror she had chosen the right spot for it; Ashkenaz would rather cut his own balls off than touch someone without their consent. What the ice women didn't understand was that the Novan men had no choice, their every conscious thought once they reached maturity was to survive and procreate. They had no women of their own, so they took what they wanted from the tribes. It didn't excuse it in the least, but it was the only way they knew.

“Ashkenaz.” He was hailed by a hurried-looking man.

“What?” He hated being interrupted, although he hadn't quite started work yet.

“Did you see what happened with the fire?

So the man had come to gossip. Ashkenaz shook his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. “I was off delivering a sword.”

“Those women,” the man spat. “One of them set the bunkhouse on fire. Looks like she was trying to kill everyone.”

“Where is she now?” Ashkenaz had a good idea of the answer to this.

“No one knows. She slipped her chains and escaped.”

“Maybe you should let her,” he replied. “What's one less woman?”

“How could you say that?” The man looked at him with horror. “You know we need to try and break the curse. Less women is less chances.”

Ashkenaz snorted. “So why does the Sage, a man far past the point of virility, still take his turn?”

“You know it is the curse that drives us.”

“If there was another solution? A way to dull the lust, would you take it?” This was his secret; he had found a way to halt his lust, but the Sages said it wasn't the way. They were cursed inside as well as out.

“There isn't,” the man replied, proving Ashkenaz's suspicions. “If you see the woman, turn her over to us.” He left, leaving Ashkenaz shaking his head.

“Still think I'm out to get you?” he directed at the hidden woman. “Stay there as long as you please. I won't bother you.” It was all her could do for her. He worked in silence for a while, but eventually realised the woman had shown herself, placing herself behind him. He felt the touch of a blade in his back and straightened up as best he could. “I won't hurt you.”

“Why not?” The woman's voice was low and mellow, despite her anger.

Ashkenaz slowly pointed to the counter and the drawer where he kept his medicine. “When I was a whytkin,” he began, pausing when the woman inhaled sharply at the word, “I slipped away from the watchers in time to see the warriors returning with some captives; Glory, they call them.” He shut his eyes. “They gathered around them, ripped their clothes off and raped them, one after the other. The women screamed and fought. One managed to break free of the mob, but was pulled back.” Ashkenaz took a deep breath and swallowed back both the memory of his disgust and the reality of it rising in his throat now. “She looked at me before they swallowed her up again. Her eyes were filled with so much hate. She accused me of being a monster like them without speaking any words.” He opened his eyes and twisted his head slightly to try and look at the woman. “I was a boy and hadn't been told that we did these things. They don't tell us until it's too late, until the lust takes over and drives us half mad. I didn't want to be what that woman thought I was, so I went to the ancient texts and found a way to remove that part of myself.” He snorted then. “It was either the potion or cutting, and I am not brave enough for that, nor was I ever.”

“If you have this method,” Caleen said, after the Ifrit fell silent, “why do you not all use it? You stand idly by as my people are raped and murdered by your monstrous brethren.”

“I tried,” Ashkenaz said, shrugging lopsidedly. “I told the Sages about the method, but the truth is, they like being monsters; they like fucking you.”

Caleen's teeth were clenched so tightly together it made her jaw ache. As much as she wanted to simply drive the sword in her hand through the beast before her, he was the only one she had met that wasn't a monster. “I must get to the jungle,” she said at last. “Will you help me?”

“Even if I could,” Ashkenaz sighed, “you would not get far without a moogle to guide you.”

“Moogle?” Caleen hadn't expected that. “You use them to find your way through the jungle?”

Ashkenaz nodded. “The men follow the path it lays out, else there is no way through.”

This was bad news. Caleen had been expecting to simply travel from one side to the other once she reached the lush foliage. “Where can I find one?”

He shook his head, a worried frown on his brow. “We catch families of them in the jungle and put the adults to work.” He snorted with disgust. “They're kept a bit like they keep you women. There's a stable near the temple on the other side of the city, but you'll never reach it.”

The “city”, as it was called by the Ifrit, wasn't much more than a collection of stone buildings, many in ruins. The temple lay on top of a hill, but getting from the forge to there meant weaving through many streets. Not all the houses were occupied, but this meant the monsters were spread out further.

Caleen wasn't as swift as she had been before she'd been taken. Her hips and legs were ruined and her gait was that of an old woman. It had been a miracle she'd managed to reach the houses from the isolated bunkhouse and she was one of the ones in good health. She didn't want to agree with the Ifrit, her pride and fury made her want to deny she was weak and couldn't do it, but she knew she'd be caught and her kin's death would be for nothing. “Could you bring one to me?”

Ashkenaz started to shake his head, but then paused. “I'm not sure,” he admitted. “The Sage is at the temple and he always wants to know what everyone is up to.” As the smith, Ashkenaz had no cause for a Moogle, but no one had ever stopped him when he wanted one to show him where the herbs were for his potion.“I need to stock up on ingredients and the keeper in the stable lets me take one of the moogles to forage for them.”

Caleen wasn't hopeful, but it seemed to be the only choice she had. “Very well,” she said. “I can hide here until then?”

There was a grumble, but then Ashkenaz nodded. Perhaps by helping the woman he could find a way to redeem his people and prove they weren't all the monsters that Macalania cursed them to be.

 

 

The sword she was holding lay at her feet, as Shiva cradled her hand. The whole thing throbbed, but it was worst around her little finger. She uncurled it and winced at the pain; her finger was sticking out away from the others and was already turning dark as it swelled and bruised. She immediately crouched down and scooped some snow over it, cooling the skin and numbing it slightly.

“You'd be dead by now,” Jihl pointed out, standing over her and slapping the side of her blade into her open hand in an impatient way.

“How fortunate for me we are only training,” Shiva replied, taking her hand out and examining it again. “You have broken my finger,” she said to Jihl.

“It happens,” she shrugged. “You think anyone is going to stop while you see to it? Pick your sword up.”

Shiva took a deep breath, held it, and let it out again. It didn't do much for her annoyance at the girl, but at least it gave her a moment to find her center. She grabbed the sword in her left hand and swung it while Jihl was still unguarded, knocking her sword up into the air. Shiva rose to her feet and backhanded the girl with the flat side of the blade, putting more force behind it than she should have to send her sprawling into the snow. Shiva sheathed the sword and strode towards Ipsen's hut.

“Ah!” She bit back a cry of pain. It was fiddly work trying to bind her dominant hand with her left and it wasn't the first time she had knocked the finger.

“Shiva?” Taran entered the hut and grew concerned when he saw her struggling to hold the small, bone splint in place and tie a length of bandage with shaking fingers at the same time. “What happened?”

“An accident,” she said through gritted teeth. “It's fine. Or it will be if I can just get this thing on it.” After failing again to bind the injury she screwed her face up in anger and hurled the lot at the wall.

Taran picked it up and took a seat next to her, holding his hand out for hers. “You don't have to do it by yourself,” he said.

“Of course I do,” she spat back, recalling the words of the tribe's healer when he said he couldn't touch her, even to help. “I am not Nyx.”

“You will be,” he said, causing her to look at him strangely. “Give me your hand and let me fix this.”

Shiva did, holding her lower lip between her teeth as Taran worked. When her finger was splinted and bound to the one next to it he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it, making her blush, although it hurt as well.

Since their first kiss some two years before they had shared others when they were able to sneak time alone together. Shiva was always left feeling like her skin was two sizes too tight, but it was never enough. There was something there, something she wanted, which was amplified when Taran's hands began worming their way beneath her clothes to fondle and touch her in ways she knew no man should until she married. Things always ended abruptly when she tried to touch him in return. He would groan in pain and pull away from her, leaving her with a sharp sting of rejection. Afterwards she always felt anger at herself for being weak to some physical sensation, but it was the only time anyone touched her in a friendly way. She hadn't realised until it no longer happened, but the affection of her tribe was something she missed and made her heart ache in ways she couldn't describe.

“We'll reach the Crux by the end of tomorrow,” Taran spoke in a hushed way. “I could sneak into the Fayth's hut and find the blessing they give to –”

“No, Taran.” Shiva shook her head. He'd brought up the blessing of the marriage rite before, but no matter how overtaken she was by the feelings he roused in her, she didn't want to take that next step unless it was with her husband. She could never marry Taran, not now she had no tribe of her own. She already lived under the Chief's protection, what problems might that cause if she and Taran were found doing things they shouldn't? “Your father would be –”

“I don't care!” he whispered harshly. “I love you.”

Shiva jerked in shock. “I – I love you, too,” she said, after a moment. She'd quickly deliberated with herself whether to answer, but in the end, she decided a half-truth was better than silence; she did love Taran, just not in the way that she thought he loved her.

Taran yanked her towards him, a huge grin on his face, ignorant of the pain he caused by squeezing her fingers, and pressed ardent lips to hers, slowly urging her to lie down amongst the cushions and furs of the seating area. His hands wandered far more quickly than they had the times they had done this before and Shiva felt a strange detachment to it this time. She wasn't quite as swept up as she usually was and she pushed at him to back off.

“I'll get the Fayth's blessing and we can be together,” he panted in her ear, his fingers unlacing the tie at her waist and pulling open her trousers.

“No.” She grabbed his hand and held on tightly, stopping him from touching her.

Taran frowned. “I don't understand,” he panted, moving back and sitting up. “You said you love me too.”

Shiva sat up and wasted time gathering her thoughts by retying her trousers closed. “I have no tribe,” she said quietly. “I live with the Chief of another tribe, but I am not of them. That on its own is strange enough. All of us should have been sent to the Crux; it is what is done when tribes are broken apart or leaderless. We weren't. Me and my kin were given to other tribes. I don't know why it is this way, but if the Fayth agreed to it then it must be for a reason.” She looked away as Taran's brows came together. “We should be kin and kin do not do this.”

“I could convince my father to let us marry,” he snapped. “He wanted us to anyway.”

“What? I didn't know this. Why wasn't I told?” Her own temper rose at the thought of Ipsen trying to decide who she should choose to walk beside her.

“You were a whytkin. Your parents would never have told you such a thing.”

“My parents knew?” The words of her mother berating her for how casual she was with Taran came back to her. If the pair were being set up as a lifelong match then why had Caleen told her to be cautious with him? She stood up, needing to be alone to work things out.

“Shiva?” Taran reached for her, but she shook him off.

“I...need to think.” She left him sitting there and didn't return until it was almost dark, Ipsen shooting her concerned looks when she appeared at the entrance to the hut, having not been present at when the tribe gathered to eat dinner.

“We were worried something happened to you,” he said in a careful voice, picking up on her odd mood.

“If something had it would hardly be a loss to a tribe that I am not part of,” Shiva replied tonelessly.

“I would be letting your father down if you died. Your parents gave their lives to protect and save you, you should hold that gift above any other!”

She blinked up at him. “I...didn't think of it like that,” she said at last. She still didn't have a clear picture of all of the events when her tribe died, but in her nightmares she had seen enough to know Ipsen was right. There had been things happening in the tribe that she wasn't aware of, and she didn't know how to feel about that still, but one thing she was certain of was her parents had expectations of her and she would do her best to live up to them.

Ipsen sent a look to Taran, who went to his room, leaving the Chief and Shiva alone. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the space across from him. He and Taran had been playing a game before Shiva entered, but he quickly moved several pieces about and took others away to set up a game that was half-finished. “This is the game your father and I were in the middle of,” he explained. “Would you like to play on for him?”

Shiva's eyes pricked with tears and she nodded. “I am not as good a player as he was,” she said apologetically.

“Few are,” Ipsen smiled. “I know you have been filled with anger and sadness,” he said as they played. “You have suffered a greater loss than any, but it would be a dishonor to both Cid and Caleen if you did not take hold of the life they saved and find a way to make them proud of you.”

“I always wanted to be a warrior like my mother,” Shiva replied, after moving a playing piece. “She was so strong and brave. My father was the kindest man I had ever known, but her strength was something I hoped I would have.” She wiped away the tear that rolled down her cheek.

“You are stronger than you think. Were you aware you knocked out Jihl during training?”

Shiva blinked and shook her head. “No. She broke my finger,” she gestured to the binding on her hand, “and I got angry at her.”

“That anger needs an outlet. Cid knew how to harness your mother's rage and make her a better warrior. You need to find a way to do the same without their help.” Ipsen thought for a moment and then offered two of his warriors who he felt would be able to do somewhat of a good job. The Stiria's training methods differed to the Nyx in that they hunted fiercer beasts where the latter tribe stuck to trickery and traps, or fishing. There were a few Stiria women in his tribe from marriages and they had been teaching the Nyx the ways of the beast-hunter. Shiva would learn from them and the tribe would gain more skills. It was a poor substitute to all that Cid planned, but even if one tribe benefited from more diverse skills then the Stiria Chief had succeeded. At least that was what Ipsen told himself as he played Cid's final game with Shiva, finding himself the loser at the end of it.

 

 

In bed that night, Shiva found herself trying to recall that last day. The blow to the head had muddied her memories, but she often got flashes of reality weaved into her nightmares. She knew she had stood next to her kin against the Ifrit and been blessed by Shiva because of it. She also knew they had tried to run and the boy had been torn apart; an event she had mourned over for some time after remembering it. She didn't recall the start of the day, or anything before the Ifrit appeared, but her reaction was to go for the children and try to help them. Her father's screams were a distant echo in the back of her mind; she would know his voice anywhere, but the anguish in it was totally foreign, except in that one instance. Her mother's answering cry of rage sent chills down her spine. Caleen had appeared seconds after Cid's voice was silenced, rushing towards the Ifrit who still held the severed limbs of the boy he'd killed. She body slammed into the Ifrit, knocking him back several feet.

“ _Run, my babe,” she commanded to Shiva in a breathless voice._

“ _No, Ma. I can help!” Shiva went to clutch at her mother, but Caleen shoved her, turning to strike the Ifrit with a club of ice as it recovered enough to come at her again._

“ _Go!” She punctuated her words by slamming the club into the Ifrit rapidly over and over._

_Shiva's feet didn't move; she couldn't leave her mother._

_The Ifrit bared its teeth in a horrid smile. “Give up and I might let your whytkin live.”_

_Shiva gasped as it looked at her, eyes sliding over her in a way that made her want to dive into a pool and scrub herself raw._

“ _No!” Caleen struck again, but left her guard open, her worry for her daughter providing the distraction the Ifrit wanted. It punched her in the gut, driving the air from her lungs and making her slump to her knees. It then came for Shiva again._

_She could feel the snow compacting beneath her feet as she stepped back, trying frantically to call upon the icy gift the Goddess had given her. The Ifrit didn't get a chance to reach for her, as an ice club came down on its forearm, breaking the bone. It howled in fury as Caleen bared her teeth back._

“ _My babe!” she hissed the warning, raising the club again._

_The Ifrit shoved with its uninjured hand and snatched hold of Shiva before she could get away. “Dead babe,” it spat at Caleen, hurling the girl with great force into the cliff wall._

_The last thing Shiva remembered before waking up in the cold and dark was Caleen's animal-like howl._

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Frejari nodded to the acolyte beside her. The younger woman stepped forward and banged the staff in her hand against the animal-skin drum next to her, calling for silence.

“Tribes, it is the time for those among you to step forward and prove their worth on the hunting grounds.”

The scouts who had reached maturity stepped forward; the total was around thirty.

Frejari eyed the group, lingering on a familiar-looking girl of the Nyx tribe, who she had never noticed before. Her gaze went to Ipsen, positioned in front of his tribe, as the other Chiefs were theirs. He looked sideways to the girl, then away again. Frejari felt her blood chill; she had assumed all of the Stiria were dead. How had she never noticed Cid's offspring among the Nyx in the six years between that event and this?

With effort, she smoothed her features to serenity and said in a loud tremor, “You are alone in this hunt. It is you and your prey. If you fail, and return, you will wait until the next gathering to prove yourselves. If you come across another hunter you will not aid them. It is you against the elements and the beast. Now, go, scouts of the tribes, and return proud warriors!”

The pochikas filed out, heading towards the jungle to find something to kill and prove they had the required skills to be of use to their tribes.

Frejari held her place only long enough to ensure proper respect for the ritual was observed, then hurried back to the Fayth's hut and began rifling through scrolls, searching for the one she needed. The moment her fingers closed around it there was a knock on the edge of the outer door frame.

“My Lady, Chief Ipsen wishes to speak with you.”

“He may enter,” Frejari replied, stowing the scroll in a safe spot for the moment. “You, offspring of an Ifrit!” she hissed the moment they were alone. “You told me they were all dead!”

“Anyone that mattered is,” Ipsen replied, taking the logical approach. It hadn't been a difficult task keeping the girl to the edges of the gathering and out of sight of Frejari; the Fayth rarely attended or even looked directly at the people she was speaking to. If Shiva hadn't stepped forward, against Ipsen's express orders, then the elder woman would have never know the girl lived still. But, Shiva was desperate to test her growing skills and prove herself; she had become a formidable opponent to his own tribespeople, with only the senior warriors able to give her the challenge she required to train. Hunting was the next logical step and would further temper the simmering rage Ipsen still saw in her.

“Do you think I would not recognise a babe I birthed? One who is the image of her parents?” Frejari's voice held a dangerous edge and Ipsen cautioned himself to be wary; the Fayth had tried to kill his son once before, though it would be a harder task now he was fully grown. She could still interfere with Shiva if she had a mind to, or even cast the whole tribe out.

“She is no threat to you,” he replied. “She has been alive these six years and done nothing to cause any concern. She is a child; leave her be,” he added in a pleading tone. He had failed the Stiria, failed his friend, but if he could keep Shiva safe then she would be his redemption.

The Fayth tilted her head slightly, a few wisps of hair escaping from the tight knot she wore. “So you have no plans to carry out the union between your son and her?” When Ipsen shook his head she snorted softly. “I do not believe you. That girl is almost of age – will be if she succeeds on her hunt – what will you do with her then? It will be many years before she is mature enough to marry. She is not your tribe and has no other. Will you leave her with the Crux?”

Ipsen would rather kill her himself than leave her with them; it would be kinder than whatever the Fayth planned. “She's practically my daughter already,” he said, though he almost choked on the title. “My tribe accept her because of old ties with the Stiria; she is my daughter and their sister,” he said. “My son thinks of her like a sister,” he added, hoping his face didn't betray the lie he spoke; he'd learned Taran wanted to bed Shiva and only catching his son the moment before he tried to enter the Fayth's hut the previous gathering had saved the young man's life. The Fayth were very clear about the punishment for stealing their secrets; he wouldn't let Taran throw his life away for feelings that were now inappropriate.

“ _You told me we were going to be married!” he'd argued, after being pulled some distance from the hut. “You told me to love her! Our tribes would be one and I would lead them with her beside me! Tell me that's not what you said!”_

_Ipsen couldn't deny it; those were his exact words._

“ _Do you know how hard it's been having her living in our hut?” Taran glared at his father. “All those things you told me, they circle in my head, and then there she is and she's beautiful and – ” he stopped and grimaced, as if in pain, “ – you expect me to accept her being there for another twenty years before you and the Fayth say I've done my part for the tribe and can marry? I'd rather take her and leave!”_

In a sudden change of tact, Frejari dismissed Ipsen with no more words spoken about Shiva, declaring she would, “Speak with the Goddess on the matter.”

It was more than he could hope for. Surely one of the four would stay Frejari's hand; the girl was named for one, after all. He would figure out something to fix the problem he had caused after the tribe left the Crux.

Once Ipsen left, Frejari returned to the scroll. Carefully unfurling the cracked parchment, she peered at the ancient writing, picking apart the words with the skill of someone semi-literate. The ingredients listed were things she had already and it would be a small matter to make it up. She walked into the back room of the hut and passed the other eight Fayth who were all in various stages of communion with Macalania. They would be of no use to her until they returned from the heights, and even then they were usually too sick to do much more than trudge wearily after her. Their condition could have been better as well. Frejari knew they all took too many of the pellets, and it showed in their appearance; more than one had vomit spattered down their robes and their nutrition suffered greatly when the choice was to spend time eating or in communion with a Goddess. Frejari, too, would rather be with the Goddess, but she needed to keep control of everything and never took as many peyote pellets as the others. The Chief of the Crux was all but useless thanks to the sleeping moss she added to his peat, which is how she liked things. The Crux had been her tribe for over one hundred years and if anyone was fit to lead it, and the people of Frigidia, it was her. “Not Cid. Not Ela. No one. They are _my_ people and I will rule them as the will of Macalania orders it. The world will be cleansed of evil and then she will restore it to the paradise it once was.” Frejari muttered to herself as she worked, putting together the recipe in the scroll until she was rewarded with a shallow, bone bowl filled with a thick, green goo. She smiled as she tilted it this way and that, watching it ooze around the sides. She had no need to bother the Goddess with this trifle; she already knew the Stiria were all supposed to die, and with this the last of them would.

 

 

Shiva wore a small smile as she walked carefully among the foliage in the jungle, a pack over one shoulder filled with supplies; she shouldn't have been on a hunt this early, and if she had been with her own tribe she certainly wouldn't have been, but Ipsen was unsure how old Shiva was. Truthfully, Shiva was unsure how old she was as well; it was difficult to track the exact point of her own birth, but she knew she was born in the season of Shiva, when the weather began cooling.

The chance to join the ranks of hunters was too great a temptation to resist. She didn't just want it, she _needed_ it.

However, the second she placed a foot on the bed of greenery, the ice blade in her hand melted, startling her. Taran had warned her it would happen, that the Goddess had no hold among the borderlands, but Shiva had been overconfident in her own abilities. She had been told often that her skills were some of the best anyone had seen, though her scouting left much to be desired. She was strong and agile, with a will that no one could overcome once she put her mind to something. She thought it would be enough, that she would be special and have the use of her magic in her first hunt ever. She was wrong and it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Fortunately, she had a bone-blade with her as well, along with trapper gear and a knife.

The pochikas taking part in the hunts were expected to be out for several days until the first began arriving back, either with a kill or without. There was also the risk of running into Ifrit out in the jungle. The rule in that case was: run.

There were things in the jungle that could be hunted and there were things that were hunters. It wouldn't be easy proving herself to the Fayth and the tribes, but Shiva was determined to succeed.

 

Six days later and Shiva was sat in a tree, tapping the blade of her knife against her boot, bored out of her mind. She'd set up a small camp and surrounded it with traps, narrowly avoiding springing and old one left behind by someone from years before. She sat with her back to the trunk, one leg drawn up and the other hanging, chewing on a piece of dried squid that was part of her provisions. She'd mentally mapped out the local area and chosen a spot that appeared to have a lot of beasts passing through, but so far all she'd seen were smaller creatures that wouldn't impress a whytkin, let alone prove to the Chief and the Fayth that she was worthy of being a warrior.

While she waited for something to happen by, she occupied her mind planning out the next few years of her life. After she succeeded in becoming a hunter she would hone her skills and become the strongest warrior in the Nyx tribe. When she was sure she was strong enough she would return to this jungle and find a way through the dense foliage to the desert on the other side. She would taunt the Ifrit and trick them into following her back to the icy lands on the other side. Once there, she would take great pleasure in spearing every single one of them! Ipsen had told her to find an outlet for her rage and she had; she would wipe out the Ifrit the same way they had her people. She would avenge their senseless deaths and do a service to the rest of the tribes as well. The past two years of her life had been dedicated to this cause, with little respite in between. Only the occasional distraction from Taran altered her daily routine of: rise, eat, train, eat, rest.

Shiva was certain she could do it. Everyone told her how strong she was, how brave. She had her mother's will and her father's sound judgement and, once she reached the desert and saw what she had to work with, she would come up with the perfect plan to make the Ifrit suffer far worse than she ever had.

But first, the bothersome exercise of getting her first hunt done.

Shiva stilled her twitching fingers, silencing the tap of the blade; there was a scent in the air she didn't recognise. What was that? She shifted, putting all her weight on her leg and rising up slightly, becoming alert. She turned her head slowly, scanning the treeline for the source of the smell and spying a wavering plume of smoke some twenty feet away from her perch. Scanning downward to the jungle floor, she squinted and twisted her head, trying to peer through the fat palm leaf that was blocking her view of whatever was making the smell. She assumed it must be some kind of small mammal, using scent to drive off predators.

Did that mean a predator was nearby? Shiva's gaze returned to the treeline, searching for something more lethal than a smelly furball. Narrowing her eyes, she peered through leaves towards a small rock outcropping which she'd been using as a location marker. A pair of feline eyes stared back, seeming to lock gazes with her. A coeurl; Shiva identified the large, agile, cat-type beast. It was a good twelve feet in length, not including the tail which lengthened it a further three feet, and had a larger front half that tapered down to smaller hind quarters. Striking out from either side of its face were the “whiskers”: long whips of muscle and nerves, which carried a shock along them electrocuting its prey. The whiskers were also dexterous and, with a quick jerk of its head, the coeurl could whip them round to strike a foe with the bulbed end.

It was not the sort of thing one took on alone, but Shiva felt it was a sign from the Goddess that if she wanted to prove herself then she was being given a challenge to do so. The trick to taking on a coeurl was to attack it from behind, or from a distance. Shiva was no archer, having learned to create spears with her magic instead.

Not an archer and no spears, either. She made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. The only choices would be to lure it to her traps, which might not spring anyway, or creep up on it and hope it didn't catch her scent before she could stab it.

There was no time to linger and second guess herself; she clambered down from the tree. Once on the ground the smell from the furry creature was stronger. Shiva coughed and covered her mouth and nose with a hand. She couldn't see the couerl any longer, but she knew which direction it was in and how far to go before she had to circle around behind it.

Carefully pushing aside the leaves Shiva fought her own gag reflex as she walked, the smell from whatever it was clinging to her still. She reached the rock formation quickly and went into a crouch so she could creep up behind the coeurl.

She paused, going completely still, listening for the beast. She heard the faintest rhythm of the animal breathing and inched forward until it came into view. It had been sitting up, now it was lying down. Her grip felt slick around the knife hilt and she switched hands, wiping her sweaty palm on her leg before swapping it back over again. Her ears strained to hear the coeurl's breaths, matching her own to its rhythm, though her heart thudded hard in her chest still. She swallowed and got the taste of animal stink in the back of her throat, seizing up as she fought the cough trying to free itself. It left her mouth in an almost soundless puff, but was more than enough to alert the big cat barely two feet in front of her.

The coeurl was up in a single, fluid movement, turning and bringing one massive paw round to strike her. Shiva put both her arms up and braced herself, but the force behind the coeurl's blow knocked her sideways. She felt claws hook into her clothes, ripping the coarse hide and finding flesh for the briefest moment before she was out of reach and tumbling down from the rock to land with the wind knocked out of her. She tried to drag in a breath, but could only manage short bursts. Her limbs felt stiff and unresponsive.

The coeurl landed heavily a few feet away. It came at her and she managed to gather enough breath to force some movement, shuffling back and stabbing wildly with the knife. Her weak actions were batted aside; the cat was playing with her. Shiva's back pressed against the side of the rock, dipping inwards where there was a gap. She dropped backwards with a gasp, falling down into a hole and hearing a thud as the beast lunged and struck its head against the rock.

 

 

Vasuman arched his back as he spilled his seed, letting out a satisfied groan, then bowed his head forward, nipping the breast of the silent woman beneath him. “You are a good fuck, my love,” he said, meeting hate-filled eyes.

“I am going to kill you,” Caleen promised, not for the first time; her soul felt sick every time the monster spoke of love.

The Ifrit laughed and slapped her flank, making her leg jerk as he climbed off her. “I would like to see that,” he mocked, picking up his clothes and tugging them on. “But, some other time. Me and the men must go collect more Glory.”

Caleen bared her teeth at this, clenching them to stop from screaming. She yanked at the chains securing her to the bed and Vasuman smirked at her.

“Ashkenaz made them, so you won't be getting out.”

The blacksmith had been true to his word and tried to help Caleen by getting a Moogle from the stables, but he'd been waylaid by Ignis who had been strangely interested in the possibility of making accessories to withstand the cold.

“ _I have come across a text that lists the method for making an elemental resistance band; a frost bangle,” he explained. “With it, our men would be able to bear the frozen lands and forge deep into the territory. We may find the key to undoing this curse on their side.”_

Ashkenaz was doubtful any search would be made for a way to break the curse. As he'd said to the ice-dweller woman; his people liked fucking hers. The idea that a remedy or redemption or something to change their way of life could exist was a shiny coin held up to the light; a distraction until they accepted the truth and gave in to their baser urges. Ashkenaz would not be charmed by such things.

Unfortunately, he'd spent so long talking with the Sage that the woman had come looking for him. He'd expressly told her to stay put, warned her how dangerous it was, yet she still thought she was some invincible warrior. She put up a good fight, killing two of her attackers and seriously wounding a third, but then her sword was taken and so was she until she was barely more than a lump of flesh and Ashkenaz could do nothing to stop them, though he tried.

Vasuman had happened by and decided he wanted her for his own, seeing her still try to fight had lit up a dark desire within him and from that day to the current one she had been in chains. When he went with his men to hunt the Frigidians on the other side of the border he left the door to his house open and men paraded in to use her whenever they felt like.

Having been left chained to the bed again, Caleen stared up at the ceiling and tried to hold onto the cold rage that was dying inside her. Six years as a slave to the beasts and her only attempt at escape had been a dismal failure. Worse, she had let down her sisters. The two that had been pregnant were long dead; freedom of a sort, and others would join them soon, along with any new captives the beasts brought back.

As the first in a succession of monsters came to the door Caleen wished her body would give up and stop fighting, even as she struggled against her bonds and fought her attackers with everything she had left.

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Shiva narrowed her eyes at the target. Her hands, at her sides, were itching to attack, but she waited, lining up her shot. Her muscles tensed and, with a sweep of one arm, a dozen spears of ice shot up from the snow, obliterating the row of practice dummies.

“Such a show-off,” Anxie muttered, rolling her eyes and stomping off.

“You said she couldn't do it!” Liara, one of the Nyx pochikas, yelled at her departing back.

“It doesn't matter, Liara,” Shiva said, rubbing her hands together before putting her gloves back on. She was well used to Anxie by now and hadn't expected the woman to acknowledge her skills. Anxie also weaved with ice, but had half the talent of Shiva, despite having the same training. The girl was a tactical genius, always knowing the correct trapping method to hunt in the jungle, although this knowledge didn't seem to make her happy.

“She said you couldn't do it,” Liara insisted, “and she says other things, too.”

“It doesn't matter,” Shiva repeated. “Anxie can say whatever she likes about me.” No words could be worse than the pain she'd buried deep inside; the knot in her chest that never came undone and could only be ignored. She'd learned to cover it with whatever small blessings she could find among the Nyx: the sweet affection of the whytkins, babes too young to know she wasn't one of them and ran to her for stories and cuddles as they did everyone else in the tribe; the skills she had, which only grew stronger with each passing day; the times when she could engage in a game or two with other tribespeople, although it was usually at the urging of Ipsen; the occasions she and Taran managed to be alone together, though it was frustrated and often ended with a lingering sense of guilt and shame.

“You're a better warrior than she is and you're younger,” Liara continued. “Would you train with me?”

Shiva blinked; this was the first time any of the pochikas had asked such a thing. She had been a full-fledged warrior for a year now; her dismal, first attempt ending in failure and injury. The second was a success, after which Ipsen had claimed her as a daughter of the tribe; a title that gave her mixed feelings and didn't make much difference to how she was treated.

“Would you?” Liara asked again, taking Shiva's wrist and pulling on her arm a little.

“Yes, I would like that,” she replied, finding a smile forming at the thought. “You know I cannot teach you magic.”

“I know.” Liara hadn't been blessed, which was a blessing in itself for it meant she had not faced death. “I want you to teach me to be like the ice.” She was called away then, leaving Shiva staring after her with a puzzled look on her face and mouthing the last words in a question. She was quickly distracted from trying to figure out what the girl meant when she overheard a couple of warriors discussing some news the scouts had brought.

 

 

“Is it true?” Shiva slid to a halt in front of the Chief, stopping just before she collided with him. Breathlessly, she repeated her question, adding, “Is there a zaghnol herd up on the ridge?” Her blue eyes shone with anticipation. This was the first proper beast the tribe had come across since diverting from their normal course that hugged the borderlands; Shiva and the other former Stiria having convinced Ipsen they had enough well-trained warriors to take on bigger game.

“You are well informed, daughter,” Ipsen replied. “I have only just sent word out to gather the hunters.”

Shiva waited, vibrating from holding back the question she really wanted to ask.

“You are to be among their number.”

She sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. “Dryhg oui,” she said in a calm voice.

“You understand it is Anxie's decision which team you are on?”

Shiva nodded, the beads in her dark braids clicking together. The news that Anxie was their tactician was a surprise; she was talented, but inexperienced with such beasts. Shiva's hopes of being given a spot on a team withered all the same, knowing Anxie would rather carve her own heart out with a spoon than give Shiva any preference on a hunt.

Ipsen smiled, ignorant of Shiva's inner thoughts and seeing only the calm demeanour on the surface. “Off you go then.”

Released from his presence, the pale-skinned woman hurried through the camp, searching for Anxie.

 

 

“I want to be on the shock team!”

“You? Forget it! You couldn't scare a kitten-coeurl!”

“You're about as much good as a walking rock!”

“Shut up!” Anxie's voice cut across the squabbling and she rubbed her temples irritably. “If we don't do this quickly the herd will move on and we'll all look like fools!” She glared at Shiva as she approached. “What do you want?”

“Ipsen has permitted me to join the hunt,” she replied in a toneless voice. She wasn't hopeful that Anxie would give her anything useful to do, but at least she couldn't say Shiva had purposely provoked her.

The other woman's lips twisted. “You can grease up the shock team.”

She had been expecting this and merely nodded; Shiva was one of the youngest warriors in the tribe, but being a Stiria meant she had an edge over the Nyx when it came to hunting beasts, having grown up being taught tactics and hearing stories from the other warriors. Even her minimal education was more than they had.

“We draw sticks.” Anxie returned to the problem at hand, gesturing for one of the hovering youths to bring her a bundle.

“How democratic of you.” Sorren, a large, muscular warrior with a tattooed left arm, spoke up from the rear of the group. “What next, a vote?”

There was a smattering of laughter from the other men, but the women mostly united to glare at him. “Zaghnol hunting is about more than strength,” Anxie replied in a cold voice. She snatched up the bundle of sticks, startling the girl so much she snapped several. “Stupid little –”

“It doesn't matter, Liara,” Taran said, appearing and gesturing for her to escape. “Anxie, father is reconsidering letting you lead this hunt. Roles should be assigned and everyone should have left by now.”

Anxie's face twisted. “I'm doing my best. We should have stuck to the borders and our own ways, not taken on Stiria fancies!” She glared at Shiva, seeming to put all the blame on her, though she was only one voice among four who had helped convince Ipsen to try a different approach.

“There are three zaghnol, so we need three teams of three shockers.” Shiva decided a change of subject was in order before she was tempted to hit Anxie. She quickly counted up the remaining warriors, ignoring the woman's narrowed eyes at her impertinence. “That leaves two spear, four archers, a club and axe.”

“Not including yourself?” she snarled.

“You already assigned me to greasing,” Shiva replied in an even voice.

“Well, that's a waste already!” Taran barked, either oblivious to the tension or trying to provoke Anxie on purpose. “You three,” he pointed at the two women and one man. “One team. You three, another. Shiva, Anxie and I will be the third shock team. The rest, organize yourselves into one weapon and one archer. There, done,” he sighed, shaking his head at Anxie. “If we're lucky they'll still be where the scouts saw them. Get the oldest pochikas to bring the grease and supplies and let's go!”

“You must be so pleased your _brother_ stepped in to put you in a place of honor,” Anxie sniped, as the hunters made their way to the area where the zaghnols had been seen.

“Not particularly,” Shiva replied, using one hand to twist her hair up and secure it out of the way; it would be better cut off, since the stink from the woolly gator grease clung long after it had been washed off and many warriors ended up shaving their heads anyway to be rid of the smell, but there wasn't time. “Ipsen chose you to lead and Taran usurped your position, putting himself in charge, but if he hadn't we might have missed the hunt altogether. What my role is doesn't matter, as long as we bring something back.” Underneath the bland tone Shiva was seething at Anxie's words, but she had learned there was little point in challenging her, usually ending up worse off when Anxie called in her sisters to help.

“I've never liked you,” Anxie sneered.

“The feeling is mutual,” Shiva replied, letting a flash of her irritation show, “but I wouldn't let personal grudges affect what the rest of the tribe eats for the next few weeks.” She also wouldn't risk getting a chance to eat something that wasn't fish, but that was neither here nor there.

 

 

Once the hunters reached the location, the shock teams stripped down and greased up, slathering on a layer of reduced woolly-gator fat. It stank, but protected them from the thunder bolts the zaghnols used in defence. It was the shock teams job to force the beast to use its ability until it was exhausted. Then the archers would step in and blind it. Finally the heavy hitters would put it out of its misery. Zaghnols were useful from their skin down to their bones and it was rare to find a small group isolated from a larger herd like this; the tribe weren't going to waste the opportunity. 

Weaponless and naked, but for a strip of fabric to provide modesty, the shock teams corralled the zaghnols and moved in. The women, more agile than the men, being lighter and more limber, were tossed onto the backs of the 15 foot beasts, avoiding the vivid, blue comb that ran along its back. It would glow when charged, magic channelling down into the monster's 6 foot tusks and shooting outwards. Even without a charge, the tusks were razor sharp and could easily skewer a Frigidian. Those of the tribe who could weave ice knew better than to try against a zaghnol; their hides were far too thick to pierce, which is why blunt instruments were called for to finish them off.

Taran tossed Anxie up onto the back of one of the beasts, leaving himself and Shiva to dive out of the way to avoid the thunder bolt it shot at them. The zaghnol tossed its head, flinging Anxie from side to side while she clung on for dear life. She held out for another charge, but ultimately was thrown from the beast's back to land in the snow, winded.

“You still alive?” Taran yelled.

Anxie flapped her hand at him weakly, relying on one of the other warriors to give her protection from the zaghnol until she got her strength back.

“Good,” Taran muttered, moving into position beside Shiva. “Be careful,” he said, grabbing hold and throwing her towards the zaghnol, the powerful muscles in his arms and shoulders tensing with effort.

Shiva slammed into it and grunted, snatching handfuls of fur and pulling herself up onto its back. She almost fell off when it bucked suddenly, but she made it to the head and grabbed hold, seating herself as comfortably as possible and clinging on for dear life as it shook its head and charged up a lightning bolt. Her hair stood on end and she drew in a sharp breath at the odd, buzzing sensation that ran up her spine and through her body. It was so strong it almost stole her strength entirely; now she understood why no one could hold on for long. If she didn't have the layer of gator fat smeared over her she thought she might have felt even worse.

Another bolt later, Shiva lost her hold and was sent tumbling off to roll in the snow. She sucked in a few deep breaths and tried to still the twitching in her limbs from the residual shock.

“You ok?” one of the archers asked, standing over Shiva to act as a shield.

“I – yes,” she said, trying to force her muscles to stop twitching.

“Give it a moment,” the archer advised. “By the time she's thrown off,” she nodded towards Anxie, “you'll be ready for another go. Your aunt hated zaghnol hunts,” she added with a wry smile.

Shiva frowned and tilted her head so she could look properly at the woman, rather than upside down at her. “You were a Stiria.”

The archer opened her mouth, then paused as Anxie came flying past. “Up you get.” She pulled Shiva to her feet and gave her a shove towards Taran, who was darting in front of the zaghnol to block its escape.

Despite their mutual dislike of each other, Shiva and Anxie worked well as a team alongside Taran, who was easily strong enough to launch both of them at the zahgnol, had it been required. The women had equal endurance to hold out for at least two shocks from the beast before needing a break and they switched places fluidly, leaving no opening for the zaghnol to counter-attack.

But, the teams were tiring; it was taking each of the women longer to recover after being thrown off and the zaghnols still seemed to have an unlimited supply of lightning stored. There was a shout from the left and Shiva turned her head in time to see one of the other female warriors being struck with lightning. She screamed loudly and fell to the ground twitching, but alive, thanks to the woolly-gator fat. She would be no help for the rest of the hunt, however, and her other teammate had just been thrown off and would need some time to recover her strength. The zaghnol was looking to break away from Sorren and escape, making everyone's hard work worthless. Shiva wouldn't let that happen. Seeing Anxie had a good grip on her zaghnol, she bolted towards the other group. “Throw me,” she said in a commanding tone.

Sorren didn't even pause, just grabbed her by the waist and hefted her towards the beast. Shiva hung on for a single shock, but knew she was at the limits of her endurance. They needed to put the beasts down now.

“Shoot it!” she yelled to the archers.

Two of them paused and swapped looks, but the other two strung their arrows and aimed for the zaghnol's eyes. There wasn't much margin for error and Shiva was risking being shot herself, but there was nothing else for it; the Nyx warriors just didn't have the strength to outlast the hunt and Shiva wasn't seasoned enough to either.

An arrow struck the beast's hide and it roared and tossed its head, annoyed. The only vulnerable part of it was the eyes, so the archers had a very small target. Shiva leant over and yanked the arrow out and, drawing in a deep breath, jammed it into its eye socket, wincing at the audible pop and ooze of foul fluids that ran between her fingers, making them slick. She forced the arrow shaft in farther, twisting her wrist and groaning, trying to drive it into the zaghnol's brain. The animal was enraged and trying to throw her off, succeeding well before Shiva could. She landed with a grunt and waved Gherol, the club bearing warrior, over. “It's blind on one side,” she panted, crouching to wipe her fingers clean with some snow. “If you hit the arrow you could kill it with one strike. It will send the others into a panic and make them easier to take down.”

Gherol hummed thoughtfully. “Sound tactic,” he decided, rushing forward with a blood-curdling roar. He slammed his club into the side of the zaghnol's face. The beast made a keening noise and collapsed.

The other two zaghnol panicked, as Shiva predicted, making them easier targets as they tried to break free from the battle and escape. The warriors surrounded them and with little more effort they also fell, marking the end of a successful hunt.

 

 

Laughter rang out through the central hut as the tribe feasted on zaghnol meat and the hunters told the tale of their triumph. The rest of the meat would be preserved to provide further meals as the tribe travelled north; their success proving they could handle hardier beasts than those found near the borders. Everything else would be turned into useful items to trade with other tribes. Taran had already claimed a piece of bone to fashion into a bracelet as a gift for Shiva; if not for her they wouldn't be eating as well as they were and he wanted to show he appreciated her insisting the Nyx try things her way.

The shock teams were all sat on one side, with the tent flaps drawn up to air out the stink they'd brought in with them. They had pride of place within the tribe for their success, but they also reeked. Sorren had been entertaining everyone with the story of the hunt, making vast exaggerations as he went along that made the hunters laugh and shake their heads. Beside him was his wife, who gazed adoringly at him from time to time, seemingly uncaring of pungent, woolly-gator smell.

“Bajee gets a frizzle,” he paused to laugh at the slightly dazed woman whose hair still displayed evidence of her shock, “and Geah gets thrown off – ” this woman ducked her head and blushed, “ – now, I'm thinking we're done and this beast is gone. Then this one,” he slapped Shiva on the back, knocking her forwards, “runs over and says 'throw me'. Just like that. So I did and she's hanging onto it and we're dodging thunder and the next thing we see is Taran's been floored by Anxie and the archers have shot Dalia.”

“He did not 'floor' me, Sorren,” Anxie said sourly. Her sulking felt justified; Taran had taken over organizing the hunt and then Shiva had stolen her shining moment when she could have brought everyone together to finish the hunt. She sneered at the pair of them, sitting together and whispering. She frowned at their closeness; it wasn't right.

“We got the bastards in the end though!” Gherol crowed, drawing everyone's attention, hefting his weapon in the air and forcing everyone within five feet to duck, or risk getting clubbed. “One stray arrow and a couple of crispy warriors is a good day's hunting!”

Ipsen smiled, pleased the tribe had done well, but more pleased for Gherol's distraction. He, too, had noticed his son and Shiva being inappropriate with each other; he would have to do something about that. “Our warrior of the hunt!” He stood and waited for silence. It was an old tradition and not one the Nyx usually engaged in, being trappers and fishermen. “Our warrior of the hunt is –”

Another cheer went up as Gherol waved his mace in the air.

“Not Gherol, though he is mighty, indeed. No, this hunt we shall honor for her keen eyes, Haruta.”

The little scout seemed surprised at being named, but then beamed a huge smile and bowed her head at Ipsen.

“We shall also honor for his tactical skill, Taran.”

Taran, sat on Shiva's right, nodded once, to acknowledge his father's words. From the corner of his eye he saw Anxie's expression darken.

“And for his strength we honor, Sorren.”

The tribe repeated their names, cheering and crowing loudly.

Gherol howled across the room, “I'll have it next time, hear me!”

“Even the deaf can hear you, Gherol!” Sorren barked back, laughing.

Shiva focused on her food, trying to hide her disappointment; she wasn't truly a Nyx, so any honors were beyond her reach. She wasn't one of them, but stayed with them. She had a place that was no place.

“You know he couldn't honor you,” Taran whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

Shiva shrugged. “We have the meat, that's all that matters.” If she couldn't manage to will herself into not caring, then at least she could try and sound as though it didn't affect her so no one could say otherwise.

“You were fearless today,” Taran continued, speaking in a low voice. “When I saw you being thrown by Sorren I nearly got speared by the zaghnol I forgot to look for it.”

She slanted him a glance and raised a brow at the look on his face; there was a time and a place for the type of play they engaged in and during a hunt was not it. Now was also not it. “Ipsen would never –”

“I know,” Taran sat back and scowled at his father, who frowned in return. “He should have sent you off to the Crux, not adopted you.”

“He did what he thought my father would do for you, if the situation had been reversed.”

Taran snorted and pushed a rough hand through his dark, braided hair. “He ruined things,” he said, bitterly.

“There's no point lamenting the past, Taran,” Shiva said, briefly touching his forearm.

He turned towards her and began to close the distance between them.

Shiva's eyes widened and she started to draw back when Ipsen's voice cut through the tribe's chatter once more.

“Brothers, sisters, I have one more honor to bestow this night!”

Taran pulled away and glared at his father again, having some idea of what he was up to and hating him for it.

“Shiva.” Ipsen held his hand out to her. The sleeve of his long robe drew back to partially expose the swirling tattoos inked on his skin, now old and faded. “The daughter of our departed brother, Cid. A brother, not of the blood, but of deeds and shared experiences. Her tribe paid the ultimate price, which allowed ours to continue on. It is time that we made a change to our laws, to honor her.”

_A change in the laws?_ Shiva had never heard such a thing being done without the Fayth's consent. Curious, she got up and went to stand next to Ipsen, dimly noting Taran's clenched fists as she left his side.

“Shiva of the Stiria, as this day passes into memory, so does your former name. You shall be Shiva of Nyx and a daughter true. Our tribe is your tribe and our ways are yours.” There was no question in Ipsen's words. He was telling the tribe, telling her, that she was one of them at last.

She didn't know what to say. She'd wanted to be recognised, but her name would be gone. It was the last piece of the Stiria that she'd held onto all this time, and she was the last of the Stiria tribe; now both were gone with a few words. She bowed her head, not trusting her voice, and felt Ipsen briefly lay his hand on her head.

“Now, we must have music and feasting! Tonight is a night of triumphs!”

The hush broken, Shiva hustled back to her place to find Taran gone.

 

 

“You would do anything to keep us apart, wouldn't you?” Taran spat at his father.

Ipsen had left the tent as soon as he could to track down his son, fearing that if Shiva were the one to find him first they would steal away into the night. He held his hands out to him pleadingly. “You cannot be with her. Do you know what would happen if you married?”

“I'd be happy?” Taran paced, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“You are too young,” Ipsen argued. “The Fayth would never give you the blessing and by the time you were given it you would be as mad as an ifrit.”

“That's a pathetic excuse. If we went before the Fayth with proof we were wed they would have no choice but to bless us and you know it. To deny the marriage rite is to deny the word of the Goddess.”

“I won't do it,” Ipsen replied, shaking his head. “I will not let you marry her. If you must wed young then I will find another for you, but you will not have Shiva.”

“Why not?” Taran stormed up to his father, looming over him. “I want her. You told me I could have her and now all I hear are weak reasons why it can't be the way it was planned.”

“She's Nyx now; your sister,” Ipsen said pitifully. “The Fayth would never allow you to –”

“If I go to them and say she's Nyx because we're married then they will,” he insisted. He'd heard enough. His father had no reason to keep the two of them apart and Shiva wanted to marry him, he was sure of it; why would she let him touch and kiss her if she didn't feel the same way?

“I'll tell her,” Ipsen threatened, as his son went to walk away from him.

Taran stopped dead; he knew exactly what his father was talking about. “You wouldn't.” Shiva's memories of the day her tribe were killed were hazy; her nightmares filled in some blanks, but the argument with Taran had been wiped clean and never returned. He hadn't reminded her of it either, deciding she needed him as a friend and comfort more than she needed to recall that he chose to let her family die, rather than try and help them. “If you tell her, she'll never forgive me.”

“Then do not give me a reason to,” Ipsen replied. He didn't like holding a blade above his son's head, but he hadn't been through all of this to lose him and he wouldn't allow the Fayth to have a reason to come after the Nyx, as they had the Stiria. Shiva would remain with them and eventually the bloodline of the Stiria would die out, leaving the Fayth no cause to think the Nyx were a threat, but if Taran married Shiva then all of that was in jeopardy. “I am your father, and Chief, and you will do as I say.”

 

 

It was late by the time Shiva headed towards Ipsen's hut. She still had mixed feelings about him casting off her name without speaking to her first, but it had the desired result. She had never been treated so well by the Nyx. She had laughed and danced and talked with many of them, where before only a handful gave her the time of day. Of course, Anxie's opinion hadn't changed, but Shiva hadn't expected it to. However, now if the other woman challenged her she could not call on her sisters for aid because they were Shiva's sisters too.

Entering the hut, Shiva could hear quiet snores coming from Ipsen's room, but there was no sound from Taran's. She briefly wondered where he was, but then a yawn took hold of her and she gave into the exhaustion tugging at her limbs. Today had been a day to be proud of. She hoped her people had seen and approved. She knew Temia would have been wide eyed with worry and already preparing a bath for Shiva's return; there was more than just a fear of lightning why she didn't like zaghnol hunts. Her mother would have been beside her, she was certain, urging her to have strength and courage when she began to tire. Would her father have honored her over others on the hunt? Not likely; he never showed her favour unless it had been earned.

Shiva smiled, though tears spilled from her eyes. _Don't think about them,_ she ordered herself, lifting up the curtain guarding her doorway and entering her room.

Having changed into a clean shirt and bottoms, she sank into the furs, then bolted upright when she came into contact with something. “Taran?” she hissed, shaking his shoulder. “Why are you in my room?”

“I thought we could celebrate your victory,” he said sleepily. “I didn't think I'd be waiting all night for you to come back.”

She didn't know how to feel about that. On one hand she was always interested in exploring coupling between them, but on the other, his words were insulting. He knew she hadn't been treated well by the Nyx and that it hurt her. “I am tired, Taran,” she whispered, deciding to ignore both of his statements for one of her own. “I want to go to sleep.”

“I'm tired too,” he replied. “Did you forget I was on the hunt also?”

“No, but –”

“And I was honored for it,” he pressed.

Shiva frowned. “You expect me to offer you my body as a reward?”

Taran chuckled. “We're going to get married, so it's alright.”

She shook her head and got off the bed. “We're the same tribe now. We shouldn't have done those things in the first place, but I –”

“But, what, Shiva?” Taran climbed to his feet.

“I –” the words stuck in her throat and she shook her head, helpless.

Taran made a frustrated noise in his throat and exited, leaving her alone.

Shiva sighed and got into bed. She remembered her mother warning her about men, and now she understood why. She dug around in the furs and extracted the cracked, stiff piece of parchment she'd hidden there. It was the only thing she'd brought back from her failed, first hunt, having found it after being attacked by a coeurl. She'd heard the animal snarling at her from above and worked out she'd fallen about twenty feet. Her head throbbed and her back ached, but it was better than being dead. The smell of the mammal had abated as well, leaving her able to breathe without coughing.

After feeling her way around the space, she'd drawn a mental picture of a room with a small pathway leading off it. She couldn't go back the way she came and if she stayed put she'd eventually die, so crawled into the opening and made her way towards a dim light source.

The cave she entered had been large enough to stand upright in and was furnished, much to her surprise. There was a table and chair, a bed, a chest and a shelf which held several scrolls. Most of them fell apart when she touched them, but she'd been able to salvage a piece that had been treated with something to protect it from the elements. It was this she had taken back to the camp after she'd crawled back along the tunnel some time later when she'd heard Taran yelling her name.

Since then, Shiva had taken it out and studied with whenever she was alone. She didn't know why she hadn't shown it to anyone, but it seemed safer not to. The faded drawings were hard to make out, but they seemed to tell a story about the Eidolons. The images showed a man standing before them, bathed in some kind of light. The next drawing was barely more than a scratch, but she thought it showed the same man as a warrior. She recalled the picture her father had kept wrapped up that showed a group of Eidolons. The stories he told had them as magical warriors with the power of Gods, but this parchment showed a man becoming one of them; was that possible? It was intriguing, although Shiva had never heard so much as the smallest sliver of a story that a Frigidian had met an Eidolon; the tribes-people had seen Etro more often. Yawning again, Shiva put the parchment away and set aside thoughts of Eidolons and Gods in favour of sleep.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

Ashkenaz held his breath as he carefully tipped the precious black dust into the row of small hollows. The bangle was an experimental piece and he wasn't hopeful of its success. Or, more accurately, _he hoped it wasn't a success._

Vasuman entered at a crucial moment, shoving the door open with such force that it blew the powder everywhere.

“Can you not read!?” Ashkenaz thundered at the warrior, throwing the bangle at his head, though secretly he was pleased. “The sign says: _do not enter!_ So what do you do? You shove the fucking door open and now I have no materials!”

“You can get more, cripple,” Vasuman sneered, dragging in a bound and gagged Caleen. She still managed to kick him before he tossed her in a corner. “See to her,” he said, turning to leave.

“What?” Ashkenaz looked from the bedraggled woman to the warrior and back. “I thought she was staying in your house.”

“Can't keep up with the demand.” Vasuman shrugged with the admission. “I know you don't touch them,” he snorted, staring down his hooked nose at the other man, “so you can watch her until I get back.” He left then, slamming the door equally hard on his way out and causing the flames in the hearth to dance wildly.

Ashkenaz waited for several beats before going to Caleen and gingerly removing her gag. “I won't ask if you're alright,” he said, moving to untie her. “I can end you, if you wish.”

Caleen bared her teeth at him, though she had lost several over the years. “I will not surrender to the likes of them,” she spat. The defiant will still remained, though the light in her eyes had dimmed somewhat.

Ashkenaz fetched some water and then kept his distance, picking up the bangle he'd thrown at Vasuman. “I'm sorry I haven't been able to help you,” he said, breaking the silence. “I'm not strong like them. I – ”

“I can see you are more deformed,” Caleen said in a gravelly voice. “You know he goes to take more of my people.” She changed the subject to the foul Ifrit who had just left. “There must be some way to stop him. It hurts to know I could not save my sisters, but having to sit knowing those things bring more women here to torture and kill – I would rather die than let another Frigidian of any tribe suffer that.”

It was a sentiment he had heard before. Ashkenaz ran a gnarled finger over the bangle in his hands. “You may be right,” he said at last. “Do you see what this is?” He held it up. “It is an elemental bracer. The Sage found a text describing how to make an armoured piece that could negate the elements. This one is supposed to be a frost bangle.” A twisting motion took hold of his head, as though he were overwhelmed with disgust, and he turned away. “With these the warriors will be able to withstand the cold and head deeper into your people's territories. There will be nowhere they can escape from them. The ashes of your sisters were to be used as an ingredient.”

A harsh noise came from Caleen, startling him. “You truly are monsters,” she choked out. “You use our bodies and even after we are dead you use us for even more evil.”

“I don't want to do it!” Ashkenaz spun around. “I've been putting off finishing it for seasons!” He limped forward and fell to his knees a few paces from the woman. “If you showed this to your people, would they be able to do anything to stop them?”

Caleen shook her head.

“Then,” he got to his feet, “we must take the knowledge and put it where no one can ever find it.”

“Why the sudden courage?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Not sudden at all,” Ashkenaz replied, shrugging lopsidedly. “The men are gone and the Sage thinks me occupied finishing this. There is no one watching. And, there is this,” he whistled softly and a fluttering noise came from his sleeping area overhead.

“Kupo?” The Moogle flapped down and settled onto the table, its wonky bobble glowing faintly. “I am almost out of my potion and was given permission to take this one to collect more.” He smiled and shrugged. “I did not think Vasuman would bring you to me, but he has, so perhaps this is fated.”

Caleen clenched her teeth together; she would not cry. “If only this were ten years ago,” she muttered, as hope stirred within.

 

 

“I hear you are quite the talented warrior.” Frejari's words cut into the conversation and Shiva looked up from the cards in her hand to see who the Fayth was speaking to. “But, perhaps that is an exaggeration,” she added, smirking at the brutally short hair crowning Shiva's head; she had recently come up against a vmyh in the jungle and ended up pasted to a tree for several hours.

“I am young,” Shiva replied, dipping her head in respect to the Fayth. “I have many years ahead of me to hone my skills, Lady Frejari.”

“Perhaps you would like an opportunity tomorrow?”

The Fayth's words made Shiva sit up straighter, cards placed face down on the table as she gave the elder her full attention. “I would be honoured,” she said. If Frejari had a task to hand out then it would be received with interest; she would do anything to improve her skills.

“I have a need to gather some herbs,” she stated. “Would you care to be my escort?”

Shiva opened her mouth to accept immediately, but was stalled by self-doubt. “Would you not feel safer with a more seasoned warrior?”

“Do you doubt the recommendation of a Goddess?”

“I have been noticed?” Shiva's voice held awe. She recalled the way the Blessed Shiva had placed a hand on her all those years ago. Since that day she hadn't the slightest inkling any of the four paid her attention. _One is watching me?_ she marvelled to herself. How could she insult a Goddess in that case? “I am honoured the Goddess pays me such favor.”

“Then it is settled.” Frejari's smile was the barest twitch of her lips and then she was gone, leaving her apprentice to explain that Shiva would be expected outside the Fayth's hut the following sunrise.

“Maybe you should hand the task to someone else,” Taran said to her once they resumed their game. “You were almost eaten a few days ago. What if that thing is still nearby?” His mother had been killed by the same type of beast and when he'd found Shiva stuck in the tree, with the monster trying to ooze its way up the trunk towards her, he had been overcome with fear. He'd turned and run back to the camp, to his father, and breathlessly explained what he'd seen. Ipsen made his son stay put and got two of his warriors to go and see if Shiva was still alive.

They returned with her trudging behind them, missing several items of clothing as well as a large patch of hair on the back of her head from where they'd cut her down. The rest of her hair followed soon after, and she was still picking bits of fabric from her skin that had been missed when she'd bathed in the lake.

“I cannot refuse the Fayth; could you?” she replied, choosing a card and laying it down on the gridded board.

“My father could talk with her,” he reasoned. “What could you do if you came up against another one of those monsters?”

“More than you.” Shiva's voice was terse. She was still angry with Taran for leaving her to the mercies of that beast. Fortunately she'd had a knife within reach and dropped it onto the area of the monster that could be called its head. The blade had stuck fast, then slowly began to penetrate the ooze until it reached a solid blob in the centre: its brain. It was fascinating, in a horrific way, and Shiva hadn't even noticed how much time had passed until the calls from the other Nyx warriors caught her attention. “No,” she said to Taran, shaking her head for added emphasis, “if the Goddess spoke to the Fayth about me then it would be an insult to ignore her.”

Taran scowled, slapped his cards down onto the table and stood up. “You invite Etro's interest far too often,” he snapped, clenching his jaw on saying more and walking away.

 

 

“Are you sure he knows where he's going?” Caleen said in a tired voice. The past three weeks she and Ashkenaz had trailed the Moogle as it zipped between the trees, stopping every so often and saying, “Kupo? Kupo!” before taking off again. Their food supplies were limited in that Ashkenaz had no talent for hunting and Caleen was too feeble. Some days it was all they could manage to walk a few miles before stopping to rest their aching limbs. The only thing driving Caleen on was the thought of reaching her homeland and warning her people that the Ifrit would soon find a way to attack them at all times.

Ashkenaz limped towards the last place Mog had paused and rifled through the undergrowth, eventually pulling up a worn, stone slab. “It's part of a signpost,” he explained, stabbing a finger at the faint grooves. “Mog can read them, even when they're buried, or rotten, or gone completely; it's the moogles' talent.”

“How?” Caleen had no knowledge of Moogles; the creatures couldn't survive in the snowy lands and there was something about the way they lived in family groups that made many of the hunters shy away from catching them.

“They remember the way the world was and pass that knowledge to their offspring through shared memory.”

Caleen eyed the floating creature, taking in the wonky bobble that fizzed and glowed at different intensities. “They remember everything?”

Ashkenaz nodded. “From every generation from the first to the last. Until they're overwhelmed by the abuse they've suffered at my people's hands. It sends them mad and their purge their minds of everything.”

“He doesn't have long left, correct?” She nodded at Mog.

“I usually get the sick ones or the ones that are dying,” Ashkenaz confirmed. “They're probably hoping I don't come back, although I am the best blacksmith they have, so it would be a mixed blessing.” He chuckled hollowly. “It would be more of a blessing for your people.”

Caleen didn't reply; she may have found Ashkenaz to be less of a monster than the others, but she could not forget he was still an Ifrit. “Will he last long enough to show us through the jungle?”

“He has a few years left before the madness overtakes him,” Ashkenaz replied. “Mog is tougher than he looks; like you.” He dipped his head slightly towards Caleen, who snorted and rolled her eyes.

Mog stalled suddenly and flapped his way back to Caleen, hiding behind her.

“Wha –”

“Shh.” Ashkenaz put a finger to his lips and edged his way forward. Moving aside some of the foliage he grimaced. “We have found the warriors,” he whispered.

Caleen ground her teeth, itching to go and kill them all, but she lacked the strength. “Do they have captives?” she whispered back, petting Mog to calm him.

“No.” Ashkenaz scanned the clearing and frowned. “Vasuman is missing.” He eased himself back and made several gestures for them to go around the camp. They couldn't be far from the border now.

 

 

“You expect too much for so little,” Frejari argued in a hiss. She had met with the Ifrit, anticipating receiving a new batch of pellets for her and her sisters, but the greedy bandersnatch demanded a far higher price. “I have one escort with me that you can have now and there will be a group of youths entering the forest in three days time for their first hunt. That is what we agreed on and that is what you shall have.”

It was a hard task keeping a careful check of her people's numbers; they were overwhelmed with females and it seemed at least once a month she was met by tribes-people who could not decide on one mate over another. Such deviancy was easily quelled, along with exiling tribes to limit the amount of mixing between them, but the Ifrit was the quickest and easiest way of controlling the population. Still, it wasn't with abandon that Frejari handed over women to them; they would only have the excess and no more.

“It's not enough. You gave us more some years ago, do it again.” Vasuman smirked down at the old Hag. If he could have, he'd snap her neck and simply take what he wanted, but their arrangement made things easy for his men to always return laden down with Glory without having to fight; except on those occasions the old wretch was wrong with her information.

“I cannot. The tribe I gave you are all dead – ” she paused and amended, “ – _almost,_ all dead. My escort is one of them. You can have her now.”

This piece of information interested Vasuman; he'd assumed all of that tribe were taken. Still, he wasn't willing to back down without something extra, even knowing the escort would provide a _lot_ of entertainment for the men. “You – ”

“You evil bitch!” Caleen sprang from the bushes, hurtled past Vasuman and barrelled into Frejari, tackling her to the ground. Straddling the elder woman she pummelled her over and over, tears streaming down her face. “You gave us to them!” She screamed the words over and over, punctuating each sentence with a punch to Frejari's face. The other woman struggled and shrieked, choking on her own blood and teeth when they were knocked out with the force of Caleen's blows.

“Well, look what escaped.” Vasuman chuckled. He moved to grab hold of Caleen and haul her off, but was struck with something. He looked to his shoulder and saw a blade sticking out of his upper arm. “Where did this come from?” He yanked it out and winced at the blood oozing from the wound.

“Lady Frejari!” Shiva bolted toward the Fayth and the woman attacking her, skidding to a halt and staring with wide eyes. “Sudran?” she whispered, barely able to speak.

Caleen paused, her fist raised to land another blow to the pulpy mess that was Frejari's face. She looked up and blinked at the woman who had spoken. “Who – ”

Vasuman snatched the back of Caleen's tunic and hauled her, kicking and screaming, off the barely-conscious Fayth. “Your daughter?” He laughed at the struggling woman, as his eyes made a steady sweep over the younger one. “We'll come back to terms another time,” he said to Frejari, who was groaning softly, her breaths harsh and laboured. “This one will do, along with the scouts you promised.”

“Promised?” Shiva wanted to look at the Fayth, but she knew better than to take her eyes off an Ifrit. It still had her mother also, and that was something she was struggling to understand on a whole other level.

The Ifrit shook Caleen like a rag doll, but before he could do anything else he was shoved from behind, releasing both woman and knife in his hands as he stumbled.

Caleen dropped to the ground and bit back a moan. She snatched up the knife and turned, plunging it into Vasuman's back. “Run, my babe!” she screamed and Shiva was jolted to life.

“I can help!” she moved towards them, only to stop and gasp as the thing that had knocked the Ifrit over turned out to be another Ifrit.

“Go!” Caleen smiled at her and nodded.

Shiva shook her head and swallowed. Her vision blurred with tears.

“Listen to me this once!”

She choked back a sob and ran.

 

“Taran, you have to help!” Shiva slammed into him, unable to stop in time. “My Ma – she hit Frejari – in the jungle – there were Ifrit and – ”

“Shiva, calm down,” Taran said, taking hold of her upper arms and noting her tear stained face. “You're not making any sense. Your Ma...died,” he said in as gentle a voice as he could. “You must have been having a nightmare.”

“No! Don't you understand she needs our help!” Shiva pulled free and twisted about, searching for Ipsen; he would believe her!

“Shiva – ” Whatever Taran was about to say was stolen from him as an inhuman roar echoed over the camp. “Ifrit?” He swallowed and snatched hold of Shiva's hand. “Come on. We can't fight them!” He dragged her into Ipsen's hut, refusing to hear the pleas she still uttered.

Taran began snatching up supplies and stuffing them into a pack. “That's it,” he muttered. “I'm not going through this again. We don't need to be here.” He looked up and smiled grimly at Shiva. “We'll make one stop at the Fayth's hut for their blessing and we'll leave; I'm sick of always doing what vydran tells me to. By the time the Ifrit are done with this place there'll be no one left to argue with us anyway.”

“We have to help,” Shiva insisted in a quieter voice. The amount of time that had passed since she left her mother, she knew there was little hope of her being alive against two Ifrit. Still, she had survived for ten years and come back. “I'm going to help,” she said, her mind made up.

“Shiva, your mother is dead!” He took her hand. “You're chasing ghosts for the sake of ghosts.”

“I would rather chase a brave ghost than remain with a living coward!” she spat back at him, yanking her hand free and snatching the pack he held. “I'm going to help,” she repeated, storming out of the hut.

The tribes-people had already started forming ranks to take on the Ifrit if they appeared from the trees. Shiva ran around them and hurried on, ignoring the calls for her to come back, but stumbled and fell to her knees as she reached the scrubland. A sob leapt free from her throat. “Ma,” she cried.

“Kupo?”

Shiva sniffed and wiped her eyes. “A moogle?” she said, taking in the fluffy appearance and bat-like wings. The glowing orb on its head was set at a wonky angle, which was made straight when it tipped its head to look at her. Despite herself, she smiled at it.

“Kupo. Kupo.” It fluttered down to the ground and put its little paw on her hand. “Kupo,” it said in a firm voice.

“I don't understand what you said,” Shiva replied, “but I whatever it is, I agree.”

“Kupo.” The Moogle nodded, sending its bobble wobbling. It then flapped its wings and flew off in a direction away from both the jungle and the camp.

“But, my mother...” Shiva gestured helplessly and tried to hold back another wave of tears. When the Moogle didn't change course, she realised her choice was to stay on the path she knew, or take a new one.

 

 

Vasuman sat back against a tree, panting. He had to admit that Ashkenaz was a more worthy opponent than he'd ever expected. But, the smith was no match for him in the end. The twisted and bloody corpse lay close to that of the Hag, who had expired sometime between him fighting off his woman and finishing off Ashkenaz.

His roar of triumph brought his men running from the camp they'd set up. They were less than thrilled to learn Ashkenaz was dead, but the promise of more Glory than they could ever imagine soon soothed their rage.

With the Fayth dead he had no easy supply of women being sent to him anymore, but there should be plenty in their camp. “Mog!” he'd yelled, having spied the useless little thing hiding in a tree. “Go find me Glory!”

The Moogle had sped off, far too quickly for the men to follow and they had spent wasted hours crashing around the jungle searching for the way out. Vasuman was well used to the Moogle's tricks and kept up more easily. He'd stopped just in time to save himself becoming a target for all the ice weavers and watched as the traitorous, little wretch chose to help the daughter of his woman. He'd licked his lips as he watched her, imagining the lean frame hidden beneath the heavy layers of furs; if she was anything like her mother she would have a body made for satisfying men.

“Kuutpoa, Ma,” he heard her say, bringing a hand up to wipe her eyes. “Dryhg oui.” She marched after Mog without looking back.

Vasuman's gaze went to the camp, which was filled with warriors ready to ice him. If he turned around he would end up as trapped as his men, until they located their camp and got their own Moogle out of its cage to lead them home. He looked at the woman again and felt for the metal bangle he'd taken from Ashkenaz; it was a frost bangle, so would give him protection against the cold. A sly smile slicked across his lips as he hugged the treeline; he would have Glory all to himself.

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

“You have no idea where we are, do you?” Shiva directed her question to her own chest, for that was where Mog was tucked away between layers of furs to keep him warm.

“Kupo,” the Moogle replied in a cross voice, though the reply was muffled.

“If you know where we are, where are we?” Shiva couldn't believe she was arguing with a fluffy, bear creature, but Mog was the only choice when it came to conversation, so she had quickly realised if she didn't want to travel in silence to get over her reluctance to look foolish.

Setting out after the Moogle, Shiva found herself with a problem fairly soon in that the provisions Taran had hastily packed would only last a few days, and there were several key items missing completely.

Running into another tribe had ended up being a bigger blessing than she ever could have guessed. The tribe were outcasts, but friendly, though Shiva was still wary as she met with the Chief.

“Where are your tribe?” was his first question.

“My tribe are all dead,” Shiva replied, her brows pinching together as she tried not to picture her mother's face. “I am following this moogle.” She gestured to Mog.

The Chief's brows rose at the admission; it was odd for a Moogle to be outside of the jungle and even more odd for someone to trail after one. “We would welcome news from the Crux, if you have any,” he said instead.

When Shiva mentioned Frejari had died the Chief stopped her.

“She's dead? Truly?”

“Yes,” Shiva nodded. “I saw her with my own eyes.”

The Chief gestured for her to come further into the camp, where he gathered around his people and had her repeat what she had told him. Their reaction was one Shiva didn't expect.

“We can go home!”

“We won't be outcast anymore!”

“Ela will believe our words without the Fayth to corrupt him!”

“What are you talking about?” Shiva's confusion cut through the din.

“Frejari declared us a cursed tribe,” the Chief explained, waving a couple forward. They came carrying two whytkins, who were turned to face Shiva.

“They are the same?” She had never seen anything like it.

“They are two that share the same face and, for that, Frejari said our tribe was evil and should not be allowed to infect the others. Tell me, do these children look evil to you?” Their mother stared hard at Shiva who shook her head.

“They look like whytkins.”

The women heaved a breath and a sob came from her throat. “They are,” she said. “Our tribe was punished for this.” The guilt sat heavily on her.

“For two children looking alike?” Shiva couldn't believe something so small had encouraged Frejari to act in such an extreme way.

“She said when they were grown they would bring misery to women who could not tell the difference between them.”

Shiva was still struggling to believe the Fayth would do this, but an entire tribe couldn't tell the same lie so convincingly. “She is dead,” she promised. “You can go to the Crux and explain. Ela has always been fair minded.” Though he is often asleep, Shiva added silently to herself. “You might be too late, for the Ifrit were coming when I left.”

The tribe still wanted to go and see for themselves. As thanks, they offered Shiva some of the missing supplies she needed and waved away her offer of payment in the form of one of her bangles, instead asking her to, “Find other outcast tribes and tell them Frejari is dead. They deserve to come in from the cold as well.”

“I shall do my best,” Shiva replied, bidding them goodbye and asking Mog to lead her on.

That first year, Shiva met with many tribes and told them the same story over and over, never really losing her surprise when they told her their reasons for being exiled by Frejari. She had been brought up on the understanding the Fayth spoke the words of the Goddesses, but either Frejari had taken matters into her own hands, or their Goddesses were far more cruel than Shiva had ever realised.

She slowly made her way further north, her path made easier with the chocobo she had traded most of her jewellery for, but was still hampered by the coldest part of the season, forcing her to seek shelter for several days at a time. Shiva had never been alone this way before. Even after her tribe were killed she still had the Nyx around her. This was so different and strange in comparison and she knew without thinking that she didn't like it.

One evening, she found herself sculpting a life-size copy of her mother, just to give her some company that wasn't animal shaped. It also distracted her from how cold it was, though she couldn't quite stop her shivering.

“Kupo?” Mog fluttered around it, patting it with a paw.

“My mother,” Shiva said, tilting her head and frowning. “She looked a lot older in the jungle, but this is how I remember her best.”

“Kupo,” Mog said, flapping his way to Shiva's pack left next to the sleeping chocobo and snuggling into it; the cold weather did not agree with the little creature at all.

Shiva stared at the frozen face. “What happened to you?” she said quietly.

The sculpture remained silent; it had no answers for her, even if it could speak.

“Why didn't you come back sooner?” Shiva raised her voice. “Did you think I didn't need you? That I died?” Sadness and anger she'd held in check for years spilled forth. “Why did you leave me all alone!”

“It was not her fault.”

Shiva spun around. She peered into the rear of the cave she had taken shelter in. “Who is there?”

“I suppose the fault, in the end, is mine.” Etro stepped forward and Shiva's eyes widened.

“Goddess,” she whispered, dropping to her knees and staring up in awe.

“I should never have taken pity on him,” she added, more to herself than to the girl before her.

“Him?” Shiva mouthed the question silently, but Etro nodded as though it was spoken aloud.

“Your father. His heart begged for me not to take you and your mother and so I did not.” The Goddess looked at her with the same pity she had Cid. “To delay death is to invite pain.”

Shiva didn't understand. The Goddess was saying she and her mother should have died years ago? “If that was true then I would have died with my tribe. Or one of the many times afterwards, but I did not.” She got up and stared into Etro's bottomless eyes. “My people faced hardship and pain many times, but you did not take them at the first opportunity. We have a will of our own. We decide the path we take and, no matter what obstacles you put before us, we still find a way.”

Etro stepped back, cowed by the girl's impassioned words. “You wish to find a way?” she said, holding herself regally. “A way to what?”

“To whatever he is leading me to,” Shiva replied, gesturing to the Moogle.

“Eos's servant?” Etro hadn't noticed him until that moment. The Moogles were the Dawn Goddess's personal creations; an immature fancy that helped her spread hope to the people before the Fracture.

Mog sleepily opened his eyes and then hopped to attention upon seeing Etro. “Kupo! Kupo kupo, Kupo,” he said, in what sounded like an introduction.

“This one is called Mog,” Etro informed Shiva. “His family line is that of peacekeeper.” She hummed thoughtfully, the sound echoing throughout the cave. “He is taking you to someone who can help.”

Shiva frowned; they were in the middle of nowhere, almost as far north as her tribe had ever gone before they were killed. “Who?”

“He leads you to Feymarch and the hall of the Eidolons.”

Her breaths became short. She recalled the painting her father had, the parchment she found and the conversations with Taran about Eidolons. He always said they were tales and not to be believed in; a childish notion he thought she had grown out of, but there was something lurking inside that disagreed with him. She had more faith in some mythical beings than in the Goddess standing before her now. She looked at Mog. “The Eidolons?”

“Kupo.” The Moogle nodded.

“How can they help?”

“They serve those higher than us,” Etro admitted after a long silence, though she said no more on the subject. “Death will catch up with you eventually, child,” she added, moving past Shiva; the girl had survived the night, which she wouldn't have, had she gone to sleep.

“You, as well,” Shiva replied, smiling grimly when the Goddess briefly paused before continuing on her way.

 

 

That first year had been hard, but as the weather warmed, Vasuman found it easier going. The frost bangle he wore helped with the worst of the cold, but he still ended up losing a couple of fingers and most of his toes from frost-blight. He had been further hampered by his injuries from his fight with the woman and Ashkenaz, which slowed him down considerably. If Mog didn't glow so brightly and leave a trail in his wake he would never have been able to follow them. He'd been forced to divert around several tribes and fight off others when he came upon them suddenly. It seemed everywhere he turned there were ice-dwellers. He had no clue there were so many, when his own people were so few in comparison. It made him doubly glad that the Hag was dead. She had obviously been holding out on him and his people, even knowing how badly they suffered if they did not ease the lust tormenting their bodies. She was a selfish witch and he only wished his woman had hit her more times before her daughter interrupted them.

In his fevered mind, he began to rewrite events so that Caleen had been doing him a favour, looking up at him with as much lust in her eyes and he had in his. She offered her daughter to him to show her love and he grinned, reaching out to snatch the girl to him. But Ashkenaz, jealous of Vasuman having two women, ruined it all.

There was nothing to occupy Vasuman's thoughts besides the girl. He wanted the girl. He would have the girl. The thought ran round in his mind until it became the only one remaining. He had been unable to take any of the ones from the tribes he'd met, finding himself on the losing side for the first time in his life. His lust was at fever pitch as a result. He covered himself in snow to cool his ardour, but it was a short term solution. If he could just find the girl he could appease it permanently.

Everywhere was snow and ice and more snow and ice. He'd thought the desert was dull, but at least they had women to fuck and the jungle to hunt in when things became too tedious. Here, the only change to the landscape was when he passed by a bunch of frozen ice-dwellers. He'd heard stories about them sleeping in the ice, but to see it with his own eyes was something else. The first one he came across he'd melted it and tried to fuck the woman inside, realising his people had been wrong about them; the ice-dwellers buried each other in ice and the woman lying on the ground was a corpse. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers and he'd tried to stuff himself inside her, earning a chill-burn for his efforts. Angry, he'd ripped her head off and hurled it at the broken ice formation, roaring his frustration.

It seemed the girl was determined to taunt him with the reminder of what he'd lost. The first time he'd come upon the remains of her camp he'd seen Caleen standing guard and been shocked. Cautiously, he closed the distance and wrapped his arms around his lover, dimly realizing she was much colder and more rigid than usual. He felt foolish once he moved around to face her and saw it was an ice sculpture, though not a very good likeness.

Vasuman followed the trail of ice women the girl left behind, always feeling as though she were just out of reach. Sometimes they were inside small huts, sometimes caves, but they were always there waiting for him, reminding him of his lost lover. Occasionally another ice sculpture stood beside her and, overcome with jealousy, Vasuman would spit in the smiling face and knock the man's head off, crushing it underfoot.

So had passed the first year and now it was onto a second and he still had not caught up with the girl, though the ice sculptures had improved in quality and frequency.

It had been another long day and, trudging into a cave, not having spied the familiar hut, Vasuman spotted the statue of Caleen. He strode up to it and kissed the cold lips, running his tongue over them and melting the ice with his heat. He was about to bed down beside it for the night when a soft, “kweh,” came from deeper inside the cave. He cautiously approached and saw the bird-mount the girl had been using to travel. Snuggled up beside it, and cradling his traitorous Moogle, was the girl.

Vasuman's mouth split into a grin and he charged, falling on top of her and tugging at her clothes. She came awake and immediately began struggling.

“No!” A blast of ice blinded him and he reared back, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

The girl scrambled to her feet and a frozen blade appeared in her fist.

Vasuman laughed at the feeble thing and lunged again, knocking her to the ground and pinning her beneath his weight. She struggled and tried to stab him with the knife, until he grabbed her wrist and smacked it into the ground, forcing her to let go. He snatched up the other hand and held them both tightly in one of his, so the other could be occupied with tugging off layers.

The girl twisted and fought beneath him, reminding him of her mother, and he ached to thrust inside her.

A small ball of fur struck him in the head, distracting him. “Mog, you little bastard!” He grabbed his sword and waved it wildly at the Moogle, aiming to knock its bobble off once and for all. “AHH!” He dropped it and rolled off the girl, clamping a hand to the side of his head and feeling the hot spurt of blood running through his fingers. The bitch had ripped his ear off!

She spat a piece of bloodied flesh at him and gained her feet, snatching up her things and the reins of the chocobo. Hauling herself into the saddle, she leaned over to grab the injured Moogle. The girl kicked him in the head as she flew from the cave on the back of the bird. She was gone in seconds, though to Vasuman it happened very slowly as his vision blurred and he began to feel light headed. With every beat of his heart he could feel blood being pushed from his injury and running down his arm. He couldn't believe she had taken a chunk off him! It was the most obscene thing he had ever encountered in his life! The metallic smell of his blood turned his stomach. He threw up and passed out in that order, landing in his own vomit and not waking again for several hours, at which time his bleeding had stopped, but the girl was long gone.

 

 

“Stay awake, Mog,” Shiva urged the Moogle verbally, as she physically nudged the chocobo with her knees to keep a fast pace. She had come awake to find an Ifrit attacking her, and her body was still responding to the need to flee from it, even though she would have given anything to thrust a knife into the foul lump of flesh it called a heart.

How did an Ifrit make it so far north? The question ran circles in her mind, but there was one thing she realized, and that was it was the same Ifrit her mother had stabbed. That evil thing had killed her mother and was now coming for her and she wouldn't allow it! She grimaced at the memory of its touch and how it added a dark edge to acts she only had good thoughts of till then. She shut her eyes, trusting the chocobo to avoid any obstacles, and mentally separated the two from each other; the Ifrit was evil and everything it did was evil, that did not make the acts evil in themselves.

Mog was in a bad state, having been sliced with the Ifrit's sword when he came to her rescue. His small body was covered in blood, which was still seeping through the makeshift bandage Shiva had tied around his stomach. The light from his bobble was flickering and he kept closing his eyes before jerking awake again.

“Please, Mog,” Shiva tried to sound calm, but it was too much to ask at this moment. “Please, don't leave me here alone. I need you.”

“Kupo,” the Moogle replied in a limp tone. “Kupo, kupo.”

Shiva hugged him to her, his blood staining her furs. “Please, don't die,” she whispered, glancing from his furry face to the horizon, though she had no idea what she was looking for. Mog had pointed a tiny, clawed paw and she hadn't stopped following the direction. If ever there was a time for a tribe to appear in the distance, this was it.

The last few weeks Mog's pace had slowed dramatically and Shiva had been worried the little furball was ill. With his injury, her concern increased, but she had no idea how to take care of him, besides keep him warm. This was a task in itself since, thanks to the Goddess's blessing, Shiva's body temperature was lower than other Frigidians. She tucked Mog closer and put more distance between herself and the Ifrit, only slowing the chocobo's pace when she felt it had reached the end of its stamina and she risked killing the poor creature.

“Mog?” Shiva glanced down at the sleeping Moogle. “Mog?”

“Ku-po?”

She let out a relieved sigh that he was still alive. “Where do we need to go? I cannot find my way without your help. We must reach Feymarch.” She hoped reminding him of the mission he had brought her along on would give him strength.

Mog's tiny wings fluttered briefly and he pointed straight ahead again before dropping back off to sleep.

Shiva swallowed the lump in her throat and walked the chocobo on, only making brief stops to rest and give it the last of the greens she had in her pack. Mog only ate bugs, which was fortunate, since that was all Shiva could find for them to eat, and she tried to get him to take some of the meat from one, but he turned his face away, only accepting a handful of snow into his mouth to drink.

“How much further, Mog?” She tried to keep the little creature awake, cradling it like a baby in her arms.

“Ku-po,” he said in a halting voice, pointing in the same direction again.

Shiva could see nothing in the distance, but that didn't mean their destination wasn't there. She didn't know how Mog knew the way, but they had been travelling straight for the past two days, so it seemed they were close. She hoped. “There will be medicine there for you,” she said in an artificially bright voice. “You will get better.”

“Ku-po,” Mog replied, slowly shaking his head. He patted Shiva's arm and snuggled close to her. “Ku-po.”

 

Shiva entombed Mog at the base of a hill that led up to a towering building; one far larger and grander than any Chief's hut she had ever seen. It didn't take much effort to conserve her energy and give the Moogle the same rites as her people, and it was a fitting way to thank him for his help, since she seemed unable to speak the words aloud. She roughly brushed away the tears that rolled down her cheeks, choosing to focus on her hate of the Ifrit for hastening the death of her companion, rather than allow the sadness of losing him to make her weak.

He had passed as they crossed the threshold of the city. Stone walls ran in both directions farther than Shiva could see, though a large gap between them marked an obvious opening.

The city was as strange as the wall and completely covered in ice and partially buried in snow. When she came upon some tombs she was shocked at the poses the people were in. Some seemed to be in the middle of tasks, while others appeared to be running away from something. One thing they had in common was they were all men. She had looked down to share this observation with Mog and discovered he died while her attention was elsewhere. She no longer needed him to tell her where she should go, but she had wanted him beside her still.

Having finished the burial rite, and with some reluctance, Shiva left Mog and climbed to the top of the hill.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

 

The hall of the Eidolons was impressive. The ceiling curved upwards in a dome shape and reached up high as a peak. The entire place was made of some smooth, white stone. At first Shiva thought it was compacted snow, but looking more closely she could see tiny veins of silver running through it. The first room she'd entered, she assumed was the one she needed, but it appeared to be set out differently to the Chief's hut. There were strange pictures dotted about on the walls; some she knew from her parents tattoos, but others were unknown to her.

“I suppose this is some kind of waiting area,” she said, then remembered there was no one with her to hear her words. Her brows pinched together, but she refused to give in to the emotion bubbling beneath the surface; she would have time for tears later. Mog had brought her here to find help, but she didn't know if it was for himself, or for her. If she had been asked at the start of her journey what her goal was she would say it was to find a way to help her people. After her recent encounter with the Ifrit she was more interested in personal revenge. She knew she couldn't defeat him; fear stole her strength.

Shiva left the smaller hallway and entered a much larger chamber. This was obviously the meeting hall. The design was identical to the smaller room, although between the pillars holding up the ceiling were statues. She stopped in front of one: a bird with its wings spread outwards, the tips curling back in again. Shiva frowned. “I know you,” she said to herself, picturing the painting her father had once owned. “You were in the corner, with the old man and the thunder bolts.” She had no name for the creature, but thought it was a mount for the man. It being given a place of honor could only mean it, too, was an Eidolon. “Animals can be Eidolons?” Shiva shook her head and moved across the room, stopping before each statue and examining it closely. There were a couple more animals; a large dog with three heads and a snake-like beast who was curled up and around itself, but most of the Eidolons had the appearance of men or women. They were unlike any Shiva had ever seen. One woman had wings for hair and held a harp in her taloned hands; she recognised her from the painting as well. There was a man wearing flowing robes with a conical hat on his head and a dog at his side. The old man with the staff and long beard she remembered, as well, although the trio of women, all sharing the same pedestal, she had never seen before. They had bug-like wings and antennas coming from their heads. There was a man with granite-like features and the woman being swallowed by the plant; Shiva didn't understand how someone about to die could be an Eidolon, and hurried on past the rest of the statues before she was utterly confused.

As she reached the head of the room, she realised there were several statues lining the wall behind a dias. These were all warriors, clad in metal, like the Ifrit, but some were male and others female. Shiva was curious about them, for they seemed to be part of the group, but separate as well. Each one held a different weapon and had different markings on their armour. She recognised a couple of symbols from the parchment she had found and assumed they were like the Chief's tokens describing which tribe they were from.

“What do I do now?” Her voice echoed slightly in the large space. There was no one around and she didn't think the Eidolon statues would come to life and tell her. She'd spied a couple of doors on either side of the hall and checked those. They were anterooms and, from the musty smell of them, hadn't been opened in years.

Coughing, Shiva retreated back to the alter in front of the warrior Eidolons. “What do I do now?” she repeated, shrugging helplessly. For the first time since she had set out, she was at a loss. Her shoulders sagged and she found herself leaning heavily against the plinth. She had been driving herself on through force of will alone and the disappointment of having failed was more than she could bear. She closed her eyes and touched her forehead against the cool stone. “How can I help anyone?” she berated in a bitter tone. “I cannot even help myself.”

The faint warmth she felt approaching from behind was enough to make her eyes spring open. She turned, throwing herself around the plinth, avoiding the Ifrit's grasping claws. It was now opposite her, a mad grin on its ugly face. Her breaths came harshly. _Do not give in to fear,_ she told herself sternly, though it was a hard battle she fought.

“My lover,” the Ifrit said.

Shiva felt her entire being shrink with disgust. Her mouth downturned and she retched.

As the Ifrit lunged for her, Shiva screamed for help and a cage came down upon it. Her heart was in her throat and it took her a moment to realise what had happened. “Who?”

**You needed help.**

Shiva jumped and spun around. The statues were still just statues, but there was an extra one now. Her eyes narrowed at it, then opened wide when it stepped towards her, revealing it to be a real, armour-clad warrior.

**Did you not want help, child?**

Shiva nodded, then shook her head. “I – not for this.” She flicked her hand briefly at the Ifrit, which was still snarling and snapping like the monster she expected it to be. “I wanted help for my people. We are hunted by these beasts. Women are taken by them. They kill everything that is good in this world and I want to stop it.”

There was a pause. Then: **You want to stop it?**

She thought of the parchment she had seen; the person being blessed with power. She had been given a Goddess's blessing once and that had made her stronger than the other warriors. What could an Eidolon's blessing do for her? Would she be able to wipe out the Ifrit, as she had once foolishly dreamed of doing when she was younger? If there were no more Ifrit then no other woman of Frigidia would have to suffer their foul touch. The people's lives would be made a little easier. Wasn't that the kind of ideal her father had tried to make come true? Shiva nodded. “Yes. _I_ want to stop it.”

**You know what you ask for, child?**

Shiva nodded again. “I'm asking for power. Enough to put an end to their evil.” She sent a hate filled look at the Ifrit, who was trying to reach through the bars to grab her. She took a step closer to the Eidolon. “He and all of his are evil. They deserve to die.”

“Fuck you!” the Ifrit yelled suddenly. “I will take you and fuck you till you die!”

Shiva shuddered again.

 **There is a price,** the Eidolon said, eyeing both the insane Ifrit and the rational woman.

“What is it?”

**Only as an Eidolon will be you granted power, but you must give yourself to the High Council of Nine.**

“I must become like you?” Her eyes went to the statues, the strange women in particular. “Like them?”

The Eidolon laughed and Shiva realised it was a woman behind the armour. **Power has its own side effects.** She shifted an arm, armour clinking, and several of the wall glyphs around the room began to glow. She withdrew a parchment from her bracer and laid it flat on the alter. It was blank to begin with, but as the glyphs shone with greater intensity pictures appeared on it. **Are the terms agreeable to you?**

Shiva looked at the paper and had no idea what the symbols meant. She had the impression the Eidolon would expect her to understand it, however. The only thing that stood out to her was a series of numbers. “Ten-thousand?”

**Ten-thousand victories to an Eidolon is a simple matter. You wish to save lives, then you must _save lives._**

_Ten-thousand victories?_ “That would take a lifetime to complete,” Shiva argued. “My people need help now.”

The Eidolon was silent.

Shiva's brows pinched. She wanted to help her people, but to do that she had to abandon them to help others? It seemed an unfair choice, but what other choice did she have? If the Eidolon left then the Ifrit would get free and attack her. If she left the hall, she would be lost and freeze to death. It wasn't much of a choice, but it was the best of a bad lot. “Very well. I agree.”

**Sign.**

Shiva frowned, again not knowing what the Eidolon meant. When she mimed stabbing her finger with a blade and drawing, Shiva's brow furrowed more heavily; she had to make a mark on the paper in blood? It seemed a bit excessive, but she did as the warrior asked, forming an ice blade and cutting herself, then stabbing her bloodied finger on the paper several times. “Is that enough?”

The Eidolon seemed surprised, but nodded, taking the paper back and curling it up again. She muttered some words and held up the sceptre in her hand.

The glyphs around the room all began to glow, shining brighter until Shiva was forced to close her eyes against them. A frigid wind blew in, swirling around her and chilling her to the bone.

 **Your power comes from a divine touch,** the Eidolon commented, sounding amused. **This shall be interesting.**

Shiva shivered, wrapping her arms around her fur-clad body. With every breath it felt as though she were freezing from the inside out. “What are you doing?” she screamed impotently into the storm. She felt her blood chilling, slowing until it flowed at a snail's pace. Her skin felt tougher and more resilient, and cold as ice. Everything hurt. More so than when Shiva had blessed her as a child. Every time she inhaled it felt like her lungs were being stabbed with a thousand, tiny needles. “Please, stop!”

 **Power comes with a price,** the Eidolon said, armour clinking as she shrugged.

Shiva dropped to her knees and curled in on herself. Tears tracked down her cheeks and froze. Her breaths became shorter. “Please,” she slurred, losing her grip on consciousness and slumping over. The winds continued to buffet her body, lashing face and whipping the loose edges of her clothing about. The Eidolon looked down at the unconscious woman, humming thoughtfully as her skin turned blue; it was a side effect from the divine being that gifted the magic, but also indicated that the woman's blood was packed with magic.

She then eyed the Ifrit, that was curled up shivering in a corner of the cage. **And what do you want?**

“Release me!” Vasuman roared. “I will have my woman back and we will conquer this world!”

The Eidolon shook her head and turned to pick up Shiva's unconscious form. **You are not worth the stain to my soul,** she said, disappearing through a shimmering doorway, closely followed by a small, green-furred creature.

 

“Where am I?” Shiva looked around the room. It wasn't the hall of the Eidolons, that much was obvious. It was also sweltering. She pulled off several layers of furs, gasping when she yanked her gloves off to discover her hands were blue. “Frost blight?” She flexed them cautiously; they didn't seem to be infected.

“You took your time, Rydia,” a man wearing armour snapped, entering the room and stopping when he saw Shiva. “Well, this is unexpected.” He looked past Shiva to the woman coming through the shining doorway. “Still building your army, I see.”

“You sound worried, Golbez.” The Eidolon removed her helmet to reveal a pleasant-faced, blond-haired woman. She smiled at Shiva. “Follow me,” she said. “I'll show you to your room.”

Shiva eyed the man curiously. “What did he say?” she said to the woman; she hadn't understood a word of it.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” she replied. “Golbez and I aren't from Nova Crystallis like you, although I have been there before. You will need to learn at least the basics of other languages if you expect to be summoned more than once.”

“Summoned?”

Rydia paused and a flash of realization crossed her features. “You didn't read the contract, did you?”

Shiva knew she was caught and shook her head. “I cannot read.” She repeated the word she didn't understand back, assuming it was the correct one.

“ _Wonderful,”_ Rydia griped. “Well, you won't be getting that back. Not without going through Excalibus first.”

“Excalibus?”

Rydia sighed. “This is going to take a while to explain.”

 

Golbez smirked as he eyed the caged man. He'd waited until Rydia and her newest soldier left the portal room and then sneaked through the still-open doorway to the world of Nova Crystallis, not forgetting to bring one of the indigenous ferret-type creatures to open a portal back.

“Where is she?!” the man bellowed at Golbez in a lisping voice.

**The woman?**

The man snarled and shifted, as though his skin were too small for his body. “The traitorous bitch is going to kill us all!”

Golbez smiled behind his helmet. **I could help you do something about that.**

 

 

 **You are not trying!**  The booming voice of the giant sea-serpent made Shiva's ears ring. She picked herself up for what felt like the hundredth time that day and squeezed water from her shirt. When the water elemental had offered to train her, Shiva had thought it was a kind gesture. She hadn't realised the female was a sadist.

“You are trying to drown me,” Shiva argued, haltingly. The tongue of the creature was one she was still learning, but she had picked up enough of the various languages in the time she had been there to hold brief conversations with some of the other Eidolons.

**Do you think you can protect a summoner the way you fight now?**

Shiva hadn't been impressed on learning she was to be ordered about like some beast of burden, but she had signed the contract and was stuck with its consequences. Keeping the person who summoned her alive was part of her duty. If she failed there would be no one to call on her for aid and her own trial would last that much longer because of it.

“What am I supposed to do?” Shiva held her hands up helplessly. She was a hunter, a warrior. Her magic was used to that effect.

**Think in broader terms.**

She pulled a face at this. The serpent, Leviathan, used a tidal wave as her main attack. Shiva was trying to block it with shields and other weapons. She supposed it was her own fault for allowing her to choose their field of combat in this odd realm they all called “The Beyond”.

 _Broader terms._ Shiva repeated the words silently to herself, then nodded as an idea came to mind.

Leviathan rose up to attack again, bringing a giant wall of water along with her.

Shiva shut her eyes and imagined gathering up a sphere containing the coldest of blizzards she could remember from home. As the water crashed towards her, she put her bare hands out in front of her and the waves froze, parting on either side of her and turning to glittering fractals.

 **Very nice,** Leviathan's complement made Shiva open her eyes and look at the ice around her. The water elemental slapped her tail down and the ice shattered into atoms. **But fragile.**

“I can find a use for that,” Shiva replied. She was about to say more when a series of echoing phrases reached her ears. They sounded similar to the words she'd spoken in the temple: pleas for help. “What is that?”

**Time to put your skills to the test for real.**

 

“This is Carbuncle. He will open the portal for you to return here.”

Shiva looked down at the green-furred creature. It looked like a ferret, but had a ruby jewel in the centre of its head. It squeaked up at her in an endearing way and she gave it a hard stare in return. “I do not like furry things,” she said, shoving away the memory of Mog. She would not allow herself to become used to another like him, only for it to die because she couldn't protect it.

It was her first summoning and she was nervous. Several things had been explained to her by Rydia and she was slowly learning to understand the languages of the other Eidolons. She had no idea how much time had passed since she arrived, but it was long enough for her to grow disheartened about succeeding. Still, she had promised to help and she would. Whatever state her own world was in when she got back would be dealt with when she got there.

“I still say you should drop all those layers.” The bossy tone came from a woman wearing a gigantic snake-skin about her body; when she was summoned she would appear as the beast: Leviathan.

“It is not...” Shiva struggled to find the word in Leviathan's language, and shook her head, shrugging.

“Appropriate.” The woman with wings for hair – Siren – supplied the word for her.

Shiva nodded her thanks.

“You will be stronger,” Leviathan added, speaking slowly so Shiva could understand.

She shook her head, but tucked the advice away to consider later; she had felt better with less on in the privacy of her room, but being out where people – strangers – could see her? She would have to think on it.

“Good luck,” Rydia said, mindful not to touch the icy-skinned woman in case her gauntlet froze to her again. “Remember, Carbuncle will send you back to us if you fail.”

Shiva nodded and drew in a deep breath, then stepped into the portal. Her first summon would be her first victory with only another nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine to go.

 


	18. Chapter 18

 

Shiva stepped through the portal and immediately dove to the floor. She covered her head with her arms as a blast of fire magic came straight at her. Glancing up, she gaped at her attacker. “Lulu?” The woman stood beside her summoner: Yuna; a girl who reminded Shiva a lot of herself. She had been proud to serve her, alongside several of her fellow Eidolons.

Now, she found herself in a war zone with no idea why her own summoner was attacking her! She spied Yojimbo, a warrior clad in robes, who used a sword attack alongside his dog, Daigoro. “What is going on?” she yelled at him.

The ronin, repelled an attack and assisted Shiva to her feet. “The only way to cleanse their world of evil and restore balance is to destroy all magic. They are starting with us.”

Shiva felt chilled, which was a feat in itself. “She can't,” she whispered, looking at Yuna. “We fought beside her; helped her – ”

“And now we are expendable,” Siren interrupted, strumming her harp, the magic within it silencing Lulu's spell casting for the moment. “We need to get out of here and seal this portal.”

“Carbuncle!” Yojimbo called for the ferret. “We must retreat.”

The creature took a stance, the red jewel in its forehead glowing. The portal began opening, only to close again as it leapt out the way when a large, spiked ball was thrown at it.

“Wakka.” Shiva grit her teeth. With a flicking motion of one hand a wall of ice appeared, blocking them from the summoner and her friends. “That will not hold for long,” she said. Her words were proven true a moment later when either Tidus or Auron struck it with their swords, causing it to crack.

“Hurry, Carbuncle!” Siren grimaced and held her side.

“You're injured?” Shiva went to touch the winged woman and drew back at the last second; her cold aura would hurt Siren more. “Yojimbo, see to her,” she said instead.

The ronin went one better and gathered Siren in his arms. “Daigoro!” he called for the dog and an armoured beast came bounding over the ice wall seconds before it shattered completely.

The ferret opened the portal and the group hurried through, a final blast of fire magic chasing after them.

“Seal it up!” Yojimbo ordered. The shimmering doorway faded to nothing and Carbuncle began washing its singed tail.

“Siren, how are you?” Shiva tried to look and was again hampered by her own body temperature. She should have been used to this by now, but she was forever frustrated by not being able to touch, or be touched, by others. To hide her annoyance she adjusted her bra top and flapped at her gauzy belt, frowning when she saw the ends were burned.

The winged woman groaned weakly and lifted up her hand. She had been hit by one of Rikku's projectiles and it was still lodged in her side.

“We need to get her to a healer,” Shiva said.

Yojimbo nodded and went to do just that. “Tell Excalibus what occurred. He will want to know why we sealed that world away.”

“The portal is closed, there is no immediate danger,” she argued, wanting to go with and make sure her friend was alright.

Yojimbo paused, then nodded, the conical hat he wore tipping forward and obscuring his face, until he jerked his head back and it fell off, revealing his long, loosely-tied, dark hair. The pair hurried with Siren along gilded hallways to the healer.

“What happened to her?” The Eidolon waited only long enough for Yojimbo to place the winged woman on a bed before shoving him aside and moving to tend to her. “This is bad,” he hissed through his teeth. “I don't know if I can save her.”

“What?” This was the first time Shiva had heard such a phrase. Whenever the Eidolons were injured in battle they were returned to The Beyond to be healed. There had never been an occasion when the healers hadn't been able to restore them to full health. “That is not acceptable,” she said to him.

“I know that,” he muttered. Every Eidolon's contract had its own conditions, and the healer's was only fulfilled if he successfully healed. A death was not acceptable to him, or anyone else. “Get out,” he snapped at the pair. “I need to sedate her.”

“You will be alright,” Shiva said reassuringly to the frightened woman, who looked far younger in years in that moment than Shiva would have guessed. She followed Yojimbo out, shaking her head in disbelief. “That cannot be right. Surely, we cannot die?”

The ronin shrugged. “We are ageless and cannot die a natural death.”

“Being attacked would be unnatural,” Shiva filled in the blanks. “We put ourselves in these situations, but we never expected our own summoner to turn on us. Surely that is something that should not happen?”

Yojimbo had no words of comfort for her. “If we cannot trust our summoner we cannot be summoned.”

The phrase followed Shiva as she strode down the corridor to speak with Excalibus.

 

“Excalibus?” Shiva stepped into the chamber where the head of the Eidolons was most often found. He was standing in the middle of the empty room, muttering to himself. This was often the state he was found in as well; he was the direct conduit to the High Council of Nine: a group of Gods elected from the many across all universes. It was their word that the Eidolons lived by and their power they were gifted to aid others.

“Excalibus!” Shiva repeated his name more sternly, stopping a few feet away and waiting. When it became obvious the Eidolon was off with the Gods, Shiva stepped around to face him and poked him with her finger, leaving a frozen spot on his armour.

There was a shifting and clinking of metal as he looked down at her. **I am busy.**

Shiva rolled her eyes. The voice of the Eidolon was one she hadn't mastered yet, nor had any inclination to either; it was as pretentious as their name for the pocket realm they resided in. “I would have words with you. Now,” she added, when she sensed him about to dismiss her. Her tone was such that no argument would be sufficient. Excalibus sighed and gestured for her to speak.

“Siren is on the verge of death,” she stated, not mincing her words. “The summoner who called for us tried to kill us all and we had to seal her realm permanently.”

**Sacrifices are sometimes necessary for a world to obtain balance.**

Shiva was appalled and it showed on her face. “There has never been any suggestion that we might end up murdered by the person we are sent to help!”

**You are tools of the Gods and the summoners. If that means you must die, then so be it.**

Anger bubbled within her. “I am no tool to be used up and discarded!” She pictured Siren's face as she left the infirmary; the palpable fear that overlaid a look of resignation. “We are not disposable!”

Excalibus loomed over her, but Shiva stood her ground. He ripped his helmet off and tossed it against the far wall, the sound of it clattering and rolling to a stop echoing around the room. “If you are commanded to fall on your sword then you must obey!” the blond-haired man yelled in Shiva's face.

“I would rather kill the summoner first!” Shiva yelled back at him.

Excalibus reared back as though struck. “That cannot be allowed. You would disrupt the balance. For what? A few, selfish warriors who begged for scraps of power from the table of the Gods.”

“Hypocrite,” she spat, gesturing at his form. “I would rather fight for those few, selfish warriors, than serve a fanatic who thinks my life is worth less than theirs.”

“Idealistic child,” Excalibus snorted. “You are far too new to this way of life. Give it a few millennia and you will change your mind.” He waved her off, as though the conversation were finished.

“I will not allow anyone to be sent to a realm if the summoner is untrustworthy.” She grabbed his metal bracer and he snatched his arm back before her icy aura could freeze it.

“You are not the voice of authority; I am.” The girl was working on his last nerve, as always. She had been brought in by Rydia as another recruit to add to her growing legion. If she did not have her army before Golbez then her world would be his, but the woman's desperation meant she picked wildly unsuitable candidates as Eidolons. This one, with her constant questions of their ways and rules, constant arguments about right and wrong, her ridiculous values and morals and high ideals. The girl was far too haughty for her own good and needed to be reminded of her place. “I am the head of the Eidolons, not you.”

“I will not be going anywhere until we are guaranteed better treatment,” she replied, folding her arms over her chest.

“Then your world will fall to the Ifrit, and the current balance will be maintained.” Excalibus was well aware of the conflict between Shiva and the rabid beastman that Golbez had brought back with him from her world; her fear of the fire-wielder was well-known, along with her hatred and desire to kill him, and for good reason, Excalibus learned. Ifrit was kept far away from any women; he might be free of the madness of his curse thanks to the Eidolon blessing, but he was still an evil, sadistic bastard who had enjoyed raping and torturing women. Reminding Shiva of that would be enough to keep her focused on what truly mattered.

“I will kill him, since I now know that we can die, as long as it is unnaturally.” She smiled then and it chilled Excalibus. “I will ensure it is unnatural.”

Clenching his jaw, he realized he wasn't going to win this argument. “I will meet in conference with the Council,” he said to placate her.

Shiva nodded and turned on her bare heel, stalking out of the room with a triumphant gait.

 

 

Exaclibus spent the next few days trying to decide what to do with Shiva. He couldn't have her killed; not only was she was popular among the Eidolons and an efficient warrior when summoned, but it would affect his own moral compass if he did. In short, she was too useful to discard. But, he couldn't allow her to keep questioning him. She was acting too much the leader for her own good.

A squeak of wheels announced Anima; her wheelchair needed oiling again. “There has been a message sent,” she said in a delicate voice.

A flutter of wings drew Excalibus's attention and he eyed the tiny dragon-like creature that flew towards him. “What is this?”

“A creature from the realm of Eldarya,” Anima replied. “Their source of magic is damaged and they cannot contact us directly. A small portal opened and this came through.”

“You read the message.” Excalibus wasn't surprised; Anima was curious beyond belief.

“Of course, my love,” she smiled and coyly tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “You know I read all of your missives.”

He snorted and scanned the note. “They're asking for aid.” He paused to consider: a lack of magic would make for a hazardous mission; large summons like Leviathan would be completely powerless there. Anyone he sent would be weakened and at risk of dying. He was about to list who to send when he stopped and smiled; it was the perfect solution. “Prepare Shiva to depart,” he said. Carbuncle would have to stay behind; if Eidolons were weakened in Eldarya then the magic of the portal-opening creature would be non-existent. She would have to wait until her mission was complete before they could retrieve her. That should remind her that she was here to serve others ends before her own; she was a tool, like they all were, and there was no place for dissent among the ranks.

“Shiva?” Anima was surprised; she could not have gone due to the nature of her abilities, but Shiva was a newer addition to the Eidolons, having been among them for a less than a millennia, and there were others who would have less of a disadvantage against a magic shortage. “Yojimbo is –”

“Shiva goes,” he snapped.

 

 

“No, leave that.” The sternly worded command was punctuated by a finger pointing to the corpse of Frejari. “It deserves to burn for all it has done. It is no better than the Ifrit.”

The group of warriors, from different tribes, all shared a similar look, but did as they were told. They had collected the strange orbs that were lying near to the Ifrit's body and, having cleared a space free of foliage, placed them in a ring about the area.

“Are we really going to burn a Fayth?” one warrior said, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily, “and bring that thing into camp?” He pointed at the Ifrit.

“You have been told the task to complete!” Ela thundered. His head finally clear of the poison Frejari had infected him with, he was more than eager to remind everyone why he was a Chief in the first place.

Those of the Crux nodded and did as he said without further argument, and the group retreated to their side of the jungle, leaving a trail of the mixture that was inside the orbs.

Once back in their own lands the people of Frigidia watched as, with a single spark, a fierce flame was born. Contained by the strange goo, it ate it up and raced to find more.

“What will happen now?” one spectator asked, but was silenced when a roar came from the jungle. A giant plume of fire appeared belching black smoke, and the people gasped.

“Are we safe here?”

“The flames will come back for us!”

“What if the Ifrit follow it?”

The various Chiefs of the tribes called for silence and calm.

“The flames will burn out and not return.”

“They fear the ice as much as we fear the fire.”

“If the Ifrit come then we will stand together!” The Chief who had spoken drew the attention of everyone, including the other Chiefs. “We will show them the might of Frigidia. We will not allow ourselves to become easy prey. No longer! No more will we exile our own. We will not forge into territory where we cannot survive. We will not fight among ourselves and we will show Ifrit, Fayth and the Goddesses themselves that our people are not to be trifled with!”

There were looks and some nods, but it was Ipsen who took the first step. “Our tribe stands with you, Caleen of the Stiria.”

Ela quickly joined them. “Our tribe stands with you, Caleen of the Stiria.”

The other Chiefs echoed the phrase and the tribes-people roared their approval.

Caleen nodded, smiling with a closed mouth. _We have found our path, Cid._

 

The next few days were a flurry of activity as the ice-weavers erected a barrier a short distance away from the edge of the jungle. The fire had burned out, as Caleen said it would, but the patch of ground would never again become green, remaining blackened and desolate as though the earth itself knew the evil Frejari had committed and refused to forget, or forgive.

One feature of the new wall was the memorial to Ashkenaz that Caleen insisted on. If he hadn't sacrificed himself then she would have died for certain. His body was brought back to the camp and given the proper burial rights of her people. She hoped he wouldn't think it an insult not to be burned as his people were, but the memorial accomplished two other things in that it was a reminder their people not fear the Ifrit if they came wearing their frost bangles, or carrying their orbs of flame, and also it would make the Ifrit pause to see one of their own displayed in such a fashion.

Caleen stood before the barrier, the ache within her easing somewhat as she weaved ice as she had years ago. Still, she couldn't help but turn her gaze towards the horizon, in the direction she was told Shiva took.

When exiled tribes began appearing saying they had returned after a girl travelling with a Moogle informed them Frejari was dead, Caleen, Ela and Ipsen were the only ones not surprised to learn the reasons they were cast out were flimsy or non-existent. All of them said the girl had continued north, even when she was asked to stay with them.

“Where are you going, my babe?” Caleen said to herself. She'd had the briefest glimpse of Shiva, and in the midst of battle she hadn't time to take in how her daughter had grown, but her memory was clear and she replayed that glimpse over and over, slowing down time in her memory, imagining she took Shiva in her arms, kissed her cheeks and said how much she loved and missed her.

“I hope she'll come back, too,” Taran said, guessing where Caleen's mind was occupied, as he came to stand beside her.

She stiffened without thought and had to remind herself that she was no longer among the Ifrit and that men here would not touch her, _ever._

“I think the other Fayth are finally clear minded enough to explain what happened,” he added. The women in the hut had been delusional and sick when the Chiefs went to confront them; none of the people had any idea the state they were in and it had taken time to work out what was wrong and how to heal them.

“I know she will,” Caleen said, ignoring the issue of the Fayth for now. “I only wonder how long it will be until that day arrives.”

 

 


End file.
